


And They Were Roommates

by FalconEye



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ella Knows, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Michaella, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Whump, oh my god they were roommates, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconEye/pseuds/FalconEye
Summary: Michael officially meets Ella same way he did the first time they met—slapped over and over again with a shoe.Well, that’s not completely correct. Technically, he meets her when Chloe and Lucifer march him into the precinct, Lucifer flopping down on the detective’s desk chair, and Chloe hisses out, “Ella, this is Michael.”Ella stares at him for a moment before her expression goes dark; she rips one ofLucifer’s shoes off, and then the beating starts. Lucifer, the prick, pulls his phone out to film.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Ella Lopez & Michael, Ella Lopez/Michael
Comments: 315
Kudos: 466
Collections: LUCIFER_FICS_





	1. Trying To Be Good Now

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. Literally, I've been writing little Michaella scenes on my phone and somehow it turned into something resembling a plot?? I have no idea where this is going right now, just that it's going. God help me. This is my first work in the fandom and a rarepair at that. Haven't written any fanfic that didn't involve OCs in some way in literal years so I'm legit nervous. I'd love some feedback, whether it's something I could change/improve on or just a thumbs up or something. I'm not picky. Also have I mentioned I never EVER write in current tense and have no idea why that's how I wrote this????
> 
> The point is, buckle up, kids. We're going on a road trip and I lost the map.

Michael officially meets Ella same way he did the first time they met—slapped over and over again with a shoe.

Well, that’s not completely correct. Technically, he meets her when Chloe and Lucifer march him into the precinct, Lucifer flopping down on the detective’s desk chair, and Chloe hisses out, “Ella, this is Michael.”

Ella stares at him for a moment before her expression goes dark; she rips one of _Lucifer_ ’s shoes off, and then the beating starts. Lucifer, the prick, pulls his phone out to film.

Ella yells in Spanish, too fast for him to understand, swatting him on the arms and chest (blessedly, she’s not tall enough to hit his head or shoulders). When her tirade is done, she practically shoves Lucifer’s shoe back into his arms.

“Ah, Miss Lopez,” Lucifer says, gesturing to his phone, “could you do that again? Missed the first part.”

Ella doesn’t hit Michael again, thankfully, just storms off to her lab. She wrenches the door open and just before slamming it behind her calls out, in the nicest clearly-still-angry voice Michael has ever heard from the woman, “It’s _very nice_ to meet you!”

Lucifer tucks his phone back into his pocket. “That went rather well, didn’t it?”

Dan approaches him next. “Question,” he starts, “does anything done to an angel influence where we go once we die?”

“Not at all,” Lucifer says, seemingly about to launch into his explanation of Hell, but Dan cuts him off.

“Good,” he says, and slugs Michael across the face so hard he sees stars. Something else of Lucifer he can’t get away from.

Lucifer sputters as Michael stumbles. “Daniel, please!” he exclaims, “I _just_ put my phone away! The least you could do is give a Devil a heads up!” He leans forward in Chloe’s chair. “Although I must say, I have never been so hot for you. If the Detective and I weren’t together—"

Chloe cuts him off with a stream of ridiculous gibberish and a wave of her hand in Lucifer’s face. Maybe she _is_ a miracle after all, if she can shut the Devil up that easily. 

When Michael finally rights himself, cupping his aching jaw in his good hand, Dan is gone. Good thing, too, otherwise Michael would be teaching that pathetic human a lesson about touching an Angel of the Lord.

That’s a lie, and Michael knows it. But lying is what he does best, after all; it’s his oldest pastime.

So re-meeting Ella and Dan could’ve gone better. Reconciling with them is the whole reason he’s here in the first place; at the _lovely_ family dinner, Dad had taken a shine to Amenadiel’s baby mama and thus when she suggested apologizing to all of Lucifer’s friends, He had wholeheartedly agreed. So now on top of his actual punishment, he has to make good with the humans.

_Delightful._

Well, Dan disappeared, and Michael at least knows where Ella is, so he figures he’ll start with her. It’ll probably be a piece of cake, too, considering he didn’t convince her to shoot his brother (and really, all Michael had done was make a little suggestion; Dan had acted all on his own) and how easily she’d forgiven ‘Lucifer’ for taking off.

And so, while Chloe and Lucifer are distracted over case files and their adorable, undying, ooey-gooey love for each other, Michael slips past them to Ella’s lab. He raps his knuckles on the glass and jolts with the sudden fear-chill that hits him through the door.

“Come in!” Ella calls, voice cracking, and Michael swings the door open. Ella looks up at him from where she’s had her head in her hands and smiles just too happily to be real. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and to Michael, she looks fucking miserable. And sure enough, as soon as she sees who’s at the door, the smile disappears. “What?” Ella snaps.

Michael clears his throat and steps all the way into the room. He nudges the door closed with his foot, almost losing his balance and leaning as casually-looking as he can against the nearby counter to cover his damn weakness. By Ella’s raised brow, she doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Hi,” Michael says, speaking in his own accent, but taking on all the grace and charm he’d used when impersonating his brother. 

Ella, again, doesn’t buy it. “What do you want?” she snaps. 

Michael sighs and straightens up. “I just came to apologize,” he says, oozing false sincerity and bullshit puppy eyes. It had worked before, after all. “I never meant to—"

“Get out.”

Michael blinks, taken aback. “Damn, Lopez,” he says, the first heartfelt thing he’s said since he re-met her.

“Whatever you’re selling, Michael, I’m not buying,” Ella continues, turning away from him to fiddle with a microscope on the counter behind her. 

Michael rolls his eyes and steps—hobbles, fuck—towards her. “Listen, I did honestly come here to apologize,” he says; she ignores him. “I’ve been to Lucifer’s doctor and she thinks if I’m gonna be... well, sticking around for a while, I should make amends with the people I’ve hurt. And I hurt you. So, I’m sorry.”

Ella drums her fingers against the surface of the counter. “Ok,” she says.

“Ok?” Michael echoes. Was it that easy?

Ella finally faces him again. “Yeah,” she says. “I just don’t believe you.” She waves vaguely at him. “So, you’ve apologized, you can leave now. Bye!”

And shit, this little mortal may be harder to deal with than Michael thought.

“Well, no, see, that’s the problem,” Michael groans. “I’m here to make it up to you.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, Lopez, really.” 

Ella eyes him suspiciously and shakes her head. “I don’t have time for this,” she says, and tries pushing past him. 

Michael grabs her arm as she bumps into him, but whatever he was going to say gets lost in the wave of cold fear that radiates off of Ella at his touch. 

Contrary to popular belief, Michael can’t incite fear with his touch. He’s always been just enough of an asshole to make people generally uncomfortable even before he opens his lying mouth and he can project fear onto someone if he focuses hard enough, but this? This is new. 

With a gasp, Ella jerks back out of his grip so hard that her hand smacks into the counter, but she doesn’t even seem to register it. Her eyes are wide and wild, and the fear she’s emitting is oppressive. Before Michael can comprehend the moment, Ella pushes past him and flies out the lab door.

The cold fear-aura fades with her exit, but the hairs on the back of his neck stay raised. The tips of his fingers feel like ice, and the rest of him isn’t faring much better. 

Michael feels fear like cold air on his soul, like holding an ice cube too close to the skin. Azrael had once suggested it was why he was so miserable all the time, but what did she know? 

Michael shakes his good hand out, the warmth settling back into his bones, but his bad hand stays cold. He knows it will fade, but his entire injured side always takes longer to do anything, anymore—longer to warm, longer to heal, longer to stay stiffened, aching, aching, _aching_ down to his bones—

The door behind him suddenly swings open and Chloe spins Michael around. “What happened?” she snaps. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Michael snaps back, pulling out of Chloe’s grasp. “I didn’t do shit!” But he’s not quite sure if that’s true, and it pisses him off in a way he can’t explain. Much like Ella had, Michael pushes past Chloe back out the lab door. “Tell dear ol’ _Lucifer_ I’m going home. This is pointless.”

\-------------

The “family dinner” had been a disaster, as Michael had expected, but not in the _ways_ he expected. Sure, Lucifer threw a hissy fit, and that was entertaining as Hell, but he, Amenadiel, and Lucifer’s therapist all ganged up on him. Which was kind of expected, but what wasn’t was the fact that Dad took their sides! There Michael was, a good little soldier, the Right Hand of The Father, and Dad was with them! Yeah, Michael had done some mettling, but so had Amenadiel. Hell, so had Uriel, and Dad hadn’t stepped in when Lucifer _murdered him_!

(Though a part of him that he’d always refused to acknowledge wondered… what if Dad allowed Uriel to die as his punishment for going after his Miracle?)

Anyway, Dad sided with the shames of the family and His precious humans. And if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth. Dad was disappointed that Michael would stoop so low as to try to ruin Lucifer’s life, as if Michael wasn’t just trying to do the right thing! Lucifer had rebelled and got a whole kingdom to himself! Michael carried out His will and got a gnarled, fucked up body as his reward. Casting Lucifer out had been the hardest thing Michael had ever done in his extremely long life, even now. So when Michael heard the rest of the Host singing his brother’s praises for doing _literally what he’d been punished to do_ , Michael snapped.

So all through dinner, in between Lucifer’s snark and Amenadiel’s human’s pathetic attempts at small talk with Dad, Michael had to endure Dad’s disapproving looks and chastising words. The part of Michael that was still loyal (hear that, Dad, still loyal!) overpowered the part of him that wanted to ask his Father if the real reason He was upset was because Michael had toyed around with his precious humans. Even Michael knew that would just make things worse, at this point. 

When they weren’t talking to or about him, Michael zoned out of the conversation. At some point, he heard his name said and came back to the conversation just as Dad and Linda were discussing… something.

“—reconcile with those they’ve wronged,” Linda was saying. 

“That’s an excellent idea, Linda,” Dad said, disgustingly excited by whatever idea she’d just presented. Dad turned to Michael and put his hand over Michael’s good one, resting on the table. “Michael, my son, I think that is an excellent way to repent, don’t you agree?”

“Huh?” Michael said, and across the table, Chloe rolled her eyes.

“He hasn’t been paying attention for the last couple minutes,” she said. Which, true, but also, rude.

Dad sighed and shook his head. “Michael,” he began, and Michael felt a lecture coming on. “Linda Martin has suggested making amends to those you’ve wronged here on Earth. And I think it is an excellent idea! So, with her help, you will live out your punishment here.”

“What?!” Michael exclaimed. “Father, you can’t be serious!”

“I am, son,” Dad replied, eyeing him harshly. It seemed his Father was losing his patience quickly. “You will stay here on Earth, among the humans, and right the wrongs that you have committed. Starting with Lucifer’s friends, which you have hurt the most.”

“ _Help_ them?” Michael was shouting now. “Why should _I_ help them? _You_ don’t even help them!”

“ _Michael_ ,” Dad’s voice boomed as he stood, seeming to echo in the dining room. From another room, Charlie started wailing. “You forget your place.”

Michael sighed and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said—and he was. Who was he to say such things to his Father? 

“This is a punishment, Michael,” Dad went on, as Linda jumped up, bowed a little, and ran to tend to her baby. “Consider yourself lucky to have been given such a gracious one.”

Michael clenched his fists so hard it hurt. “Yes, Father,” he said. “Thank you, Father.”

Across the table, Lucifer gave Michael the smuggest look Michael had ever seen cross his brother’s face. He wanted to rip it off with his bare hands. Hand. Fuck.

“But I do recognize that you will need aid to carry out this punishment,” Dad said. “That is why, Lucifer, I would like for you to help your brother.”

“What?!” Both Michael and Lucifer exclaimed.

“I don’t need his help!” Michael shouted.

“And I refuse to give it!” Lucifer yelled.

Amenadiel, silent until now, cleared his throat. “What kind of help did you have in mind, Father?” he asked. Bless him, trying to alleviate the tension. It was adorable how he tried.

“Lucifer,” Dad began, as if his twins weren’t trying to set each other on fire with their eyes, “You have a surplus of wealth, and lodgings. I’m not saying you two have to live together, but I would like for you to house your brother for the duration of his punishment. You deal in deals, correct? Then I will make you one: do this for Me and I will give you authority to guide Michael on his path to redemption.”

Michael was so angry he couldn’t fucking speak. Lucifer cocked his head to the side. “And what does this authority entail, exactly?” he asked. Fucking prick was actually entertaining the idea!

“Michael needs a place to start,” Dad said. “You will instruct him who to help and how he should go about doing so. And if he strays from his path, you will correct him.”

“Like a sponsorship program,” Chloe suddenly said.

Dad pointed at her with a smile. “Sure,” he said. 

“Or a jailer,” Lucifer said. “So still having me do my job then, is it?” Lucifer breathed deeply. “Though I admit, this is one prisoner I would enjoy watching over.”

“Then it’s settled!” Dad said with a clap of his hands. And it was Done.

All at once, Michael felt drained. His side hurt and he could feel his divinity fading, not completely but just enough to be significant. His wings felt heavy on his back, there but weakened even more than they already were. His palm suddenly hurt and when he looked down, he saw blood on his palms from his nails. “Father,” he said frantically, showing his hands, “I—I thought this making amends was my punishment!”

“It is,” Dad said, steepling his fingers. “This is for speaking out of turn, when you already have done so much. Now,” Dad stood from the table, smile back on His face as if He hadn’t turned Michael’s entire world on its head. “I’d like to see what’s making my grandson so upset.”

\-------------

So here Michael is, in the apartment right above Lux, fuming over his fate. It had been a week since his encounter with Ella, and Lucifer wouldn’t get off his back about it. Chloe was convinced he’d said or done something to her, since Michael’s word was garbage, unlike his brother’s, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that now.

Michael hadn’t slept the night before, the pounding music of the nightclub below him keeping him up (and wasn’t that just _so generous_ of Lucifer, giving him the shittiest apartment in his little castle). He wasn’t even high enough in the building to watch the sunrise. Truly, he doesn’t care, every sunrise was the same to him, but at least it would’ve given him something to do. 

Michael’s phone goes off (another generous gift from Lucifer) with the most annoying alarm-tone possible. Michael needed to figure out how to change it or he was sure he’d wring his brother’s neck. With a groan, he gets up and heads for the shower. He’d thought his bad side was fucked up before, but now it was even worse. His right leg dragged just slightly after his left and his entire right arm was numb. As soon as he moved it, pinpricks struck the nerves and left him shaking in place until it passed.

At least he has one thing over his brother—his wardrobe. Lucifer could buy him all the clothes in the world, but he couldn’t make Michael wear them, So Michael pulls out his brown turtleneck and slacks, foregoing the coat today, and slips his shoes on. By now, Lucifer is normally down here to collect him. If Michael had to guess, he and his Miracle are still in his penthouse having a grand old time. Small mercies, Michael figures. Lucifer gave him the worse apartment, but at least he doesn’t have to hear his brother and his human rutting like animals.

Admittedly, Michael isn’t sure what he’s going to do about Ella and Dan. And at this point, he’s not even thinking about Dan; he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. At least Ella doesn’t want to cause him bodily harm anymore, and with his powers effectively zapped, Michael can’t afford to keep getting his ass beat.

Michael takes the elevator down to Lux and into the parking lot. He’s not sure what compels him to do it (maybe Dad? Gee, thanks) but he hails a taxi and rattles off the address Lucifer had put in his phone. Michael finds himself in front of Ella’s apartment building early enough that her car is still in its parking spot. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to do.

Luckily for him, Ella’s apartment door bursts open a few minutes after Michael arrives. She’s carrying a large vase full of beautiful purple flowers and the blast of fear Michael feels is more intense than he’s ever felt. Ella sprints to the nearby dumpster, intending on heaving the flowers into the trash, but she falters, drops the vase, and vomits everywhere.

Not what Michael was expecting, but he can work with that.

Michael limps over to Ella and puts a hand on her back. “Hey—”

“Don’t touch me!” Ella practically screams, smacking his arm away. Tears streaming down her face, she vomits again and sobs. “What are you doing here?!”

“Good morning,” Michael says instead of answering. “How are you? I’m good, thanks for asking.”

Ella spits and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand; Michael offers her a tissue from his pocket. She eyes him warily, but takes it, so Michael counts that as a win. Good Dad, she looks like shit. It’s only been a few days since he’s seen her, but it looks sickly. There are dark bags under her eyes, practically suitcases at this point, and her eyes are way more bloodshot than from tears. 

“Good morning,” Ella croaks icily. “What do you want?”

“You really have a hard time grasping the fact that I’m trying to be good now, aren’t you?” Michael eyes her. “You ok? You want me to call someone?”

“No.”

“Not even Lucifer?”

“No!” Ella yells. “Don’t—Don’t call Lucifer.”

“Ok, ok,” Michael replies. “You look like Hell.”

“I’m fine,” Ella snaps.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Really, Lopez, I’m the resident liar here. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ella sniffs and stares down at the broken vase and pool of puke at her feet. “I can’t do this right now,” she says, voice wobbling. Is she going to cry again? 

Michael isn’t ready for this. He steps in front of her as she moves to walk away, giving enough space between them that hopefully she doesn’t freak out again. “Listen,” he says. “This wasn’t exactly my decision, ok? Dad wants me to fix what I broke, so here I am.”

Ella crosses her arms. “So, what, you wanna help me ‘cause your Dad told you to?”

Michael scrambles for a lie, then realizes he probably shouldn’t if this is actually going to work. “Yes?” he tries.

“Go to hell.”

Michael scoffs. “Oh come on!” he exclaims, but she’s already halfway back to her apartment. Michael scrubs his good hand over his face and looks down at the remains of the vase of flowers. There’s a little card on the ground, luckily just out of puke range, that catches his eye.

_To Ella_

_From Pete_

Something about the card sets Michael on edge. He can’t believe he’s doing this, but he pulls his phone out and dials his brother. “Hey—”

“Well, well, well,” Lucifer croons. Already, Michael hates this. “Not like you to call me, Mikey. Get caught in the elevator? Need me to open a particularly ornery jar?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Lucifer, shut up and listen to me,” he hisses. “Who’s Pete?”

Lucifer goes dead silent on the other end; Michael should feel some form of amusement that he finally shut the asshole up, but after what he’s seen so far today, all he can feel is the tension through the line.

“Where are you?” Lucifer snarls. “What have you done to Miss Lopez?”

Michael scoffs. “Other than watch her puke behind a dumpster and get yelled at for my trouble?” 

“Michael!”

“I haven’t done anything to your little human.” Michael stares at the door Ella had disappeared into. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. For her to come back out? “I got here like ten minutes ago. Lopez went to throw some flowers in the trash and lost her lunch.” He wouldn’t mention the oppressive aura of fear wafting over the girl, not now.

“Flowers?” Lucifer says, urgent. “What kind of flowers?”

“I don’t know, purple?” Michael nudges the broken vase with his shoe and opens up the little card Ella had dropped. “From someone named Pete. ‘Dear Ells, I miss you, hope we can still be together after all this. Love Pete’. So who’s Pete?”

Lucifer sighs harshly. When he speaks, his tone is even but murderous. “Pete Daly. The serial killer who almost took Miss Lopez’s life while you were plotting your _dastardly schemes_. They were... together.”

“Damn,” Michael says, suddenly finding himself interested now. The cloud of terror over her makes a little more sense now. “Guess she’s not as ‘fine’ as she insists.”

“Tell Miss Lopez I’m on my way over,” Lucifer says.

“No, no,” Michael cuts in. Dammit, the last thing he or Ella needs is Lucifer trying to help. “She didn’t want me to call you. I told her I wouldn’t.”

“Your mission to tell the truth more is going swimmingly, I see.”

“Oh shut up, would you rather I have kept this a secret?” Michael pauses for a moment, watching Ella’s door, and takes a chance. “Besides, she agreed to come down to the precinct with me.”

“She did?” Lucifer asks.

“Yup,” Michael lies. “We’ll be there soon, so don’t get your horns in a twist.” Michael hangs up before Lucifer can say anything else. What the fuck is he doing?

Michael drops the card from Pete into the dumpster and makes his way to Ella’s door. He knocks literally once before the door swings open. Ella glares up at him, pathetically. “What?” she snaps, but it falls flat. 

“Just seeing if you’re ok,” Michael says. He looks over her for a moment at her apartment and holy shit. It’s a mess. There are cups and plates with half eaten food on every flat surface, and dirty laundry thrown literally everywhere. It smells _awful_. Michael is a messy person, but this is just sad.

“Like I told you, I’m fine,” Ella says, but he can tell the fight is leaving her. 

Michael takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright then, get dressed,” he says. “We’re going to the precinct, come on. Lucifer called. He asked what was going on.”

“You told him?!”

“I wasn’t going to lie to him. I’m trying to make amends after all.” When Ella says nothing, Michael says, “Would you rather he’d come here and see all... this?”

That gets through. “No,” she says, utterly defeated. She sighs. “Come in, I’ll get dressed.”

Ella disappears into another room in her apartment; Michael pulls his phone out and makes another call.

\-------------

The drive to the precinct is silent. Uncomfortably so. Michael isn’t the Angel of Misery, but he can feel it rolling off of Ella anyway. Despite how obviously upset she is at him, she waits beside the car while Michael extracts himself from the front seat. They walk into the precinct together, met immediately by the lieutenant. 

“Lopez,” he says, “I get it, I do. After everything that’s happened, you deserve this.” He pats Ella on the shoulder and is again off that quickly.

Ella immediately rounds on Michael. “What is he talking about?”

“You’re on administrative leave,” Michael tells her.

“What?”

“Curtesy of _Mistah Morningstah_ ,” he exclaims in his most exaggerated version of Lucifer’s accent.

Ella crosses her arms, unamused. “I thought you were done impersonating your brother,” she says.

Michael wishes he could cross his arms back at her, but he settles for digging his hands into his pockets as smugly as he can instead. “Yeah well I’m supposed to be helping you and Lucifer told me to figure it out. So I did. You know it’s exactly what he would’ve done. He knows it too.”

“Impersonate you?”

“Get you some _vaycay_ , Lopez,” he rolls his eyes. “You need it.”

Speak of the prick, just then, Lucifer bounds up to Ella, Chloe on his heels. “Miss Lopez,” he says, “you look awful.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Ella says sarcastically.

“Seriously, Ella,” Chloe says, taking one of Ella’s hands in her own. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just tired,” Ella defends. “Lucifer, Michael impersonated you to get me administrative leave.”

Michael scoffs. Snitch.

“Well,” Lucifer says, glaring at his brother, “that explains why it was already approved when I called, then.”

Ella blinks. “What?”

“You’re not ok, Ella,” Chloe says. “We’re not the only ones who have noticed. Let us help you.”

“Yes,” Lucifer cuts in, “Especially since it’s literally my dear brother’s punishment to do so.”

Ella drops her head into her hands. She looks around the precinct to make sure no one else is listening and then finally admits, “I haven’t been sleeping. My apartment… There’s soo much… _him_ there. I-I don't feel safe there anymore!”

Lucifer softens. “Darling,” he says, gently setting his hands on Ella’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you just say so? You should’ve come to me, or the Detective, or Linda, or—”

“No!” Ella exclaims miserably. “You’re all so busy, a-and Linda deals with too much as it is! You guys have so much going on, I didn’t want to add my shit on top of it all!”

Michael can pinpoint the exact moment Lucifer gets an idea. “Well, Miss Lopez,” he practically purs. Fuck. “It’s a good thing we have someone at our disposal with literally nothing to do _but_ help!”

Ella and Chloe follow Lucifer’s gaze to Michael. Dad smite him now. “But—” Ella starts, but Lucifer cuts her off.

“This is perfect!” he says with a flourish. “Miss Lopez, you’d also be helping dear Mikey here with his punishment, to get back into my Father’s good graces, as it were.”

“So, what,” Michael starts, “You’re gonna have me live in her apartment like a guard dog?”

“Of course not,” Lucifer says, waving him off. “Miss Lopez will move into one of my properties and you’ll live _there_ with her, like a guard dog.”

Ella’s eyes snap wide. “Lucifer, I can’t—”

“Nonsense, Miss Lopez!” Lucifer turns serious. “I wont have one of my friends be terrified of her own home. It doesn’t need to be permanent. Just until you feel safe again or find somewhere new. I’ll arrange the whole thing!”

Ella looks away and fiddles with the cross around her neck. She’s starting to really tear up now. “You don’t have to do this, Lucifer.”

“But I want to, Miss Lopez.” Lucifer opens his arms to her. “You’re worth it.”

Ella chokes out a sob and all but collapses into his arms. Michael looks away, feeling like he’s intruding even though he’s been literally forced into this conversation. When Lucifer and Ella part, Chloe rubs her hand along Ella’s back.

“Come on,” she says, “Let’s get your stuff from the lab and let the boys deal with all this. Why don’t I call Linda and ask if you can come over? We’ll tell her you can babysit for the day or something.”

As the girls walk away, Michael rounds on Lucifer. “You’re so proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he hisses.

“Yes, actually,” Lucifer says. “Chin up, Michael. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”


	2. Should The Company Become Too Sour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely blown away by the responses to this fic! Seriously, it's incredible. I've almost cried a few times now. Thank you everyone so, so much! I just hope I don't let you down with this. Plot is starting to form very slowly and hopefully I can do it right. As always, feedback is always loved and appreciated!!

Lucifer had Ella make him a list of all the things she wanted from her apartment and a couple hours later, Michael finds himself shoving wads of socks into a cardboard box along with a team of movers. Ella’s apartment looks like IKEA and Disney threw up in the same toilet, with all the colorful furniture and knick knacks strewn all over the place. Lucifer actually helps with the packing, shockingly enough, but he bitches about it the entire time. Michael is just about to throttle him, Dad’s orders be damned, when a shriek from the bathroom startles them both.

Lucifer is out of the room in a flash and laughs at something as he rounds the corner. One of the movers darts out of the bathroom with one of his fingers in his mouth.

“It bit me!” the guy shouts. 

“That would be Margaret, I assume,” Lucifer says. Michael peers into the bathroom and stares in absolute stunned confusion at the fucking chicken in the bathtub.

“What the fuck,” Michael says.

Lucifer pulls out his phone. “Seems we may need Miss Lopez after all,” he says, dialing her number. “That or an animal wrangler. Michael, that zoo you were living in still vacant?” Before Michael can say anything, Ella picks up. “Miss Lopez!” Lucifer says. “Small snag. It’s Margaret, you see.” A pause. “No, no, she’s just upset we’ve intruded on her territory, as it were. Don’t suppose you could come retrieve her, could you?” Long pause this time; Michael savers the moment, as it means he doesn’t need to go back to shoving more of Ella’s shit in boxes. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Well. that is an idea! I’ll make the arrangements. No, no, I’m sure. Don’t you worry about a thing. Alright, byeee!”

“I’m not taking care of a fucking chicken,” Michael says immediately.

“Well of course not,” Lucifer replies. “I wouldn’t subject the poor bird to you, filthy animal or not. You can barely take care of yourself. No, I’m going to arrange a sitter for Margaret here.”

Michael blinks. “A sitter?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Like a babysitter, Mikey. Keep up, will you? As much a dear friend Miss Lopez is, I won’t have her chicken parading around one of my properties. I was debating having a coop built in the backyard but Miss Lopez said she was thinking of getting someone to watch the animal anyway.” Lucifer gives Michael a smug look as he passes him. “See, Michael? This is how you help people. Take notes, or should I be writing this down for you?”

What Michael wouldn’t give to rip his fucking head off. He slips into the bathroom and takes a seat on the closed toilet, bathtub chicken be damned. Anything to get away from Lucifer for a moment. His bad arm hangs dangerously close to that damn chicken, but he can’t find it in him to give a shit. Let it peck him; his arm is going to hurt either way. The chicken in question clucks at Michael and jumps up onto the lid of the tub. It eyes him, and despite the fact that it’s a fucking chicken, Michael feels very, very judged. 

“Fuck you,” Michael whispers, and Margaret pecks his hand. Even in his weakened state, it doesn’t hurt. Huh. The mover must just be a pussy. And, ok yeah, the thought makes Michael feel a little better. Margaret pecks at the sleeve of Michael’s shirt and Michael can’t help but grin. “Make sure you shit on Lucifer’s shoes before he carts you off.”

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. “Hello?” It’s Ella.

“Come in,” Michael says.

Ella opens the door and tuts at her chicken. “Margaret,” she chastises as she crouches to pick the bird up. “be nice to the guests.”

Margaret pecks at Ella’s hands too. Maybe this bird is just an asshole like Michael is. 

Ella hefts the chicken onto one hip. “Sorry,” she says. “She didn’t hurt you did she?”

“I think I’m durable enough to handle a chicken, Lopez,” Michael replies. 

Ella fixes him with a look, but sighs instead of saying anything. She still looks terrible, but it seems the last couple hours away from her cesspool apartment have done her a tiny bit of good. No wonder she was still coming to work after what happened. It was probably all she could do to get away from here. 

“Thank you for watching her,” Ella says, but Michael waves her off.

“I wasn’t, but you’re welcome,” he says. He pushes off the sink to his feet and Ella let’s him pass her back into her apartment. It still looks like a bomb went off in here, but now with boxes instead of clothes and takeout containers. Still smells, though.

“Miss Lopez!” Lucifer calls from another room. “Do you want to bring any of your cosplay with you?”

Ella freezes and fear wafts off her again. Michael is going to regret leaving his jacket at Lux with all the chill she gives off.

“N-no!” Ella exclaims, a little too frantically. Curious. 

“Not even the furry suit?”

“None of it!” Ella snaps. Margaret starts flapping her wings and scratching Ella, startled, and Ella pets her to calm her down. “None of it, Lucifer, thank you though.”

Ella starts looking a little green, so Michael takes a risk. “We’re going outside,” he says, giving Ella a look. “Chicken’s gotta shit.”

“Oh, please, by all means!” Lucifer shouts back. “The last thing I need is to step in bird feces in these shoes!”

Ella narrows her eyes at Michael, but follows him out of the apartment. On the way out, she grabs a length of what looks like pink rope and a harness from the floor. 

A huge moving truck is parked right outside. “What’s the point of giving Lucifer a list of stuff I need if he’s just gonna pack the whole place up?” she wonders aloud.

“Please, have you met my brother?” Michael says. “Besides, it’s not all of it. He’s leaving your... fuzzy stuff.”

Ella shakes her head, not ready for that conversation. She takes the pink rope-looking harness and attaches it to Margaret. Oh, a leash. Clever. 

Margaret wanders around, pecking at the grass as Ella takes a seat on the curb. If Michael tried to get down that low, he’d never get back up. 

“You’re really gonna move in with me?” Ella says suddenly, watching her chicken instead of looking up at Michael.

“Don’t really have a choice,” Michael replies.

“Everyone has a choice.”

“Yeah well, everyone  _ human _ has a choice. And we both know I’m not human.” At that, Ella does look up at him. “At least you’re not a charity case, yeah?” Michael says.

“No,” Ella says bitterly, “I’m just your fucking community service, right?”

Michael doesn’t panic, thank you. He just... doesn’t know how to reply to that. But his silence seems to be reply enough. Ella turns away from him again to watch her bird. Dad help him, this is going to go horribly.

——————

Another good hour passes of Ella and Michael waiting in silence out front as movers pass them by. A lady showed up about twenty minutes into their riveting quiet game and Lucifer finally emerged from Ella’s apartment to greet her.

“Belinda!” He exclaimed, introducing the little blond woman. She was here to take Margaret for the foreseeable future. Lucifer and Belinda both promised Margaret would be well taken care of.

“Belinda here runs a lovely rehabilitation center for abused farm animals,” Lucifer explained. “I helped her found it myself.”

As Ella and Belinda disappeared back into the apartment to gather Margaret’s things, Michael said, “And your favor for that is for her to babysit a  _ chicken _ ?”

“Not all of my favors have to be Earth shattering,” Lucifer replied. “I once cashed in a favor from a gent to have his mother make the Detective’s spawn some soup when she was sick.”

“Unbelievable.”

Lucifer clapped Michael on the back, narrowly missing his bad shoulder. “You’ll understand one day when you’ve matured as emotionally as I have, Mikey.” And with that, the prick strolled back into the apartment, leaving Michael standing dumbly in the parking lot.

Ella came back outside once Belinda and Margaret left and sat down next to Michael again; they’ve been silent ever since. Michael’s getting antsy, waiting for Lucifer to make him start packing again, so he figures maybe if he starts getting Lopez to talk, Lucifer will leave him alone when he inevitably appears.

Problem is, he doesn’t know what to talk about. He doesn’t know this girl from Adam—and he didn’t know Adam all that well, either. Or at all, really. Semantics.

Michael blows air through his teeth and focuses his senses on Ella. His ears ring as his abilities hone in on her, oblivious. It only takes a moment, but he can tell the second he’s got her.

Nosy. She was so nosy. The smell of flowers. Lilies? A purple light,  _ don’t get caught _ , a weight on top of her. Hands around her neck, can’t breathe.  _ He’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill me! I loved him!  _ Stabbing with too much force into his back. Standing above him, paralyzed on his own floor where she left him. She’s terrified, yes, but furious. She wants to—she wants to—

That’s interesting. Obviously she fears this man, Pete-whatever, but there’s something else there. Something pushed down inside her, from way back. Michael can technically only feel fear, but this fear is different. He can feel her anger, her guilt, her shame, her  _ relief _ —interesting—because she fears all of that as well. He can’t quite find the source—not yet, she’s repressed it too deep—but Michael finds himself intrigued. What he can find is concerned looks from her  _ abuela _ . Hospitals, therapist after therapist, pills, pills, pills. Church services, being held down and prayed for.  _ It didn’t work. Don’t tell anyone. They can’t know _ . Talking to someone, a girl, a ghost? Sitting alone on her bed, crying after sending the ghost away. _ It’s not real _ .

And earlier than all of that, yelling, pain, a car crash—and it cuts off. That’s as far as Michael can get, and even that is fuzzy. 

But Pete’s voice coats every single fear like tar.  _ There’s darkness in you, Ella.  _ And his voice is booming.

One thing at a time. The most recent, that’s a good start, right? Michael releases his focus and clears his throat. “You know, he can’t hurt you anymore, right?” he says. “He’s behind bars.”

Ella freezes in place and her hands start to shake. Abruptly, she stands and runs back into the apartment. What does it say about Michael that she’d rather retreat into the place where her memories terrify her than stay outside with him?

——————

It takes another hour or so to finish up at Ella’s. Lucifer and the movers have managed to pack up just about everything but her furniture and kitchenware, and the next time they all exit the apartment, it’s the last. Lucifer guides Ella to his corvette, opening the passenger door for her, then motions for Michael to hop in the back. As if he could just do that. It takes a minute, where Lucifer just watches through the rearview mirror and Ella just stares down at her lap, but Michael manages to fold himself into the seat.

The drive to their new home is silent but for Lucifer’s music playing quietly. Normally, he’d be blasting the music, but apparently even he has enough sense to realize that Ella needs a bit of peace at the moment. And it’s not even anything Lucifer listens to, so maybe it’s Ella’s? Michael will give his brother props for that, at least.

The house Lucifer drives them to is huge, because of course it is. And it’s on top of a huge hill, which figures. It’s white, built in squares and rectangles for the boring modern look half of LA has turned into, with a sitting area outside covered by the balcony of the bedroom above it. Just about every room visible has huge bay windows. There’s a sizable patch of grass next to the driveway which leads into what must be the backyard, but a large gate and solid stone fence obscure the view. It’s gorgeous, admittedly, but certainly not anywhere that Michael would’ve chosen for himself—nor anywhere Ella seemingly would’ve chosen either. Michael wonders idly if that was intentional or just Lucifer trying to show off.

Lucifer takes Ella’s hand and leads her through the front door, leaving Michael to maneuver his way out of the back seat himself. The ride has left him stiff, his leg beginning to cramp, so he just stands leaning against the car for a moment until it passes. Michael makes sure to leave a huge smudge mark from his hand before he follows his brother and new roomie into the house.

“—six bed, six bath,” Lucifer is saying as Michael slams the door closed behind him. “So you have plenty of space to roam should the company become too sour.”

“Lucifer this is insane,” Ella says. 

And it is. The inside of the house is just as blinding white as the outside, which is honestly surprising knowing Lucifer and his disdain for the clean white of the Silver City. The foyer is rather plain, with only an ornate chandelier and sleek black accent table against one wall, but opens up into a sizable kitchen with black marble countertops and island in the middle. Between the kitchen and a huge living room is a bar with four black stools already pulled up. Michael is starting to see a pattern here, and sure enough, everything that isn’t walls or floors is black. That’s more like his brother.

The living room is massive, with a massive couch facing a massive fireplace and an even more massive flat screen tv. Unlike the kitchen, the ceiling stretches up to meet the second floor. Michael almost trips down the sudden step down from the kitchen to the living room floor as he looks around. The kitchen ceiling is also apparently a little balcony overlooking the room below. 

Michael continues his little tour. The couch isn’t leather, as Michael assumed, but instead fabric with visible gold threads and accents. There’s a white wooden coffee table, the only white furniture so far, and the white tile floor is covered with a luxurious black rug.

The living room walls are completely windows, and through them Michael can see a sizable pool in the backyard. He is  _ not _ taking care of that, and he’ll literally fight Lucifer on it. Past the pool, the only place there isn’t that huge stone fence, but instead a shorter, glass railing, is a pretty good view of the city.

Lucifer and Ella appear from a hallway, Lucifer still going on and on about the house. Assuming the rooms Micheal saw through the windows outside are four of the bedrooms, that means there’s two on the main floor. Perfect, because there’s no way Michael can make it up those stairs every morning and night. 

“Michael,” Lucifer calls, “your room options are through here.” He waves to the hallway they’d just exited and starts leading Ella upstairs. Michael huffs and heads off to find a room. Unlike the rooms upstairs and seemingly the rest of the house, both bedrooms down here have actual walls. They’re no less fancy than the rest, however. Despite the fact that in both rooms, the beds are stripped and the furniture is sparse, everything is sleek and clean and horribly expensive looking. Both have their own bathroom (which he’ll look at later, how interesting could a bathroom be?) and walk-in closet. Not that Michael will ever need it, but even he's impressed with the size of them. The shelves and drawers are empty, but the entire closet looks like something from a fancy boutique on one of those shows Michael had watched when he’d had nothing better to do. In the middle of it all is a full sized mirror and a leather settee. Michael wants to literally throw all of his shit on that little seat and be done with it, just to have a one-up over Lucifer.

Fuck. Michael hadn’t even packed his things. Not that he has many things to pack, but still. He doesn’t want to go back to Lux, especially not with Lucifer. 

Michael emerges from the hallway just as the doorbell rings. He hears Lucifer open the door and start giving orders. Must be the movers. Sure enough, the men from Ella’s apartment spill into the house with the boxes they’d packed. Ella starts instructing them where to put things, insisting that she wants to unpack the stuff herself, and Michael takes the opportunity to slip out the front door. Maybe he can call an Uber…

A stranger pulls into the driveway in Ella’s car. He’s wearing the same uniform as the movers, but all he has with him are two cardboard boxes and some duffle bags.

“You Michael?” the man asks; he’s staring at Michael’s scar. Michael nods, annoyed already. “Got your stuff from Lux. Mr. Morningstar gave me the key. Let me know if there’s anything I missed.”

The mover tosses Michael the keys, but with Michael’s shot reflexes, they bounce off his chest and onto the ground. Michael groans as the mover passes him and carefully bends down to pick them up. Ella’s got way too many fucking keychains for the few keys she has. Michael pockets the key ring and starts pulling his shit out of Ella’s car. At a cursory look-through… yeah, the guy got everything. Even the leftover takeout Michael had in the fridge. Instead of feeling grateful, Michael just feels pathetic.

Michael leaves his stuff on the driveway and takes his leftovers to the kitchen. The fridge is empty. The cabinets are empty. The whole fucking kitchen is empty. Michael hopes Lucifer doesn’t expect him to go shopping. Small mercies, though, because at least there are cups and plates and silverware. 

Michael slowly starts bringing his things into the house but leaves them in the living room. He takes one duffle bag and chucks it into one of the bedrooms, effectively claiming it, before quite literally flopping down onto the sofa. His side is killing him, wings aching in his back. He tips his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. Not that Lucifer would leave him alone if he’s found sleeping, but it’s worth a shot.

Michael must actually fall asleep after all, because the next time he opens his eyes, the sun is lower in the sky and there are a few boxes around him. Even though nothing is unpacked, the house already looks more lived in. Ella is in the kitchen with a woman Michael has never seen before, pulling food out of cheap plastic bags. Thank Dad. 

Michael gets up with some difficulty, his side having stiffened even more during his nap, and meanders into the kitchen. Ella glances at him briefly, but keeps talking to the other woman. She does, however, push over a bag of groceries, so he takes that as an order. Michael peers inside and finds a bunch of little boxes and bottles that don’t need to be refrigerated. He opens the closest cabinet and when Ella and the other woman are turned away, he literally shoves the entire bag inside, closing the door before they turn around. 

Lucifer appears at the entrance to the kitchen and flashes one of his winning smiles. Michael wants to vomit. “Mikey,” Lucifer says, waving him over. Michael resigns himself to his fate and follows Lucifer into the foyer. Lucifer presses a key attached to a little devil emoji keychain into his hand. “Your copy of the key.”

“Gee, thanks,” Michael says. 

Lucifer picks up a folder on the accent table and opens it. “All the information about the house,” he says, showing Michael the documents, “as well as the names and numbers of the pool boy, the cleaning crew, the gardeners, and general maintenance crew should you need them. Oh, and their schedules as well. I’ve also taken the liberty of having a security system set up, so the passcode is in there as well should Miss Lopez find need for it. She needs to feel safe here, after all.”

“I got it,” Michael says, snapping the folder closed. Admittedly, it’s a lot more than he’d expected his brother to do for them, but it’s no doubt only for Ella’s sake.

“Also!” Lucifer snaps and pulls a little black remote out of his suit pocket. “The remote for the windows.” Lucifer pushes a button and a low motorized hum comes from the living room. Lucifer leads Michael there to find opaque paneling literally sliding out of the walls to cover the windows. The living room becomes shadowed, light still coming in through the panels but only just. “Every room has its own remote, so don’t lose them.”

Lucifer opens the panels again as Ella joins them. “Whoa,” she says, taking the remote. “I was wondering what was up with that.”

As Ella starts opening and closing the panels again, like a fascinated child, Lucifer beams with pride. “Yes, well, only the best for my dear friend,” he says, fiddling with his cufflinks. “And while I don’t particularly give a toss for privacy, I recognize that it is paramount for you right now.”

“N’aww, thanks buddy,” Ella says, wrapping her arms around Lucifer. He stiffens for only a moment before returning the hug awkwardly and patting her once on the back. 

Lucifer clears his throat and Ella let’s him go. There’s a moment of awkward silence. Clearly, no one knows what to do now. Lucifer looks torn between wanting to stay for Ella and wanting to get the Hell away from Michael. Ella, either picking up on this or simply done with all the attention, lets out a fake yawn.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat,” she says. “I think I’ll unpack everything tomorrow.”

Lucifer nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Make sure Mikey here helps you, Miss Lopez,” he says. “That’s literally what he’s here for, after all.”

Michael rolls his eyes. He retreats back into his new room as Lucifer and Ella say their goodbyes to find the few meager things from his apartment at Lux already in his room and his bed already made. He starts unpacking just to give himself something to do, but he finishes way too quickly even after actually putting all of his clothes in the proper places in his too-huge closet. 

Michael wanders around the house, checking in the rooms he hadn’t explored earlier. He finds a gym, surprisingly, what looks like a music room or something, and a small library fully stocked. Michael pulls the first book off the shelf and cracks it open.  _ Dante’s Inferno _ . Michael resists the urge to throw it out the window. The next book he finds is a much better selection, so he takes it back to the living room and starts to read. 

Ella has disappeared. Michael thinks nothing of it; she had said she was tired after all. And even if she’s just exploring like he had been, the house is big enough that at least they won’t be tripping over each other. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe they could both just mind their own business and not be miserable. Or maybe this was just the calm before the storm. Michael was nothing if not a pessimistic optimist, after all. Either proven right or pleasantly surprised. 

——————

Ella was still absent by sunset. She didn’t appear again the next morning, either. And she was still missing late into the afternoon. 

Michael had made his way through the book he’d picked out and had moved on to watching television. He hated to admit it, but some of it was actually pretty entertaining. And at the very least he could just listen to the mindless dribble if he got tired. 

Halfway through a program theorizing how aliens were responsible for seemingly every ancient civilizations’ successes, Michael hears feet pad down the hall. He doesn’t look, but he hears Ella creep into the kitchen and turn the Kureig on. The sun literally just went down and she’s making coffee?

Michael listens as Ella fixes her coffee, opening and closing the fridge, pulling a spoon out from the drawer. And then it goes quiet. Michael finally looks up. Ella is leaning on her elbows on the island, coffee cradled in her hands. She’s not looking at anything, really, just staring ahead. She drinks her coffee in silence, apparently unaware Michael is watching her like a creep, and then carefully sets the mug in the sink. She’s back down the hall as quickly and quietly as she’d come in. Of all the rooms upstairs, she ended up choosing the bedroom next to Michael’s?

Michael sits there, staring after her like he’s waiting for her to come back out. Yesterday he’d been in her room and among her things; her closet was full of colors and patterns, cartoons and funny sayings. But Ella had come out wearing an oversized LAPD t-shirt and plain navy sweatpants. 

Michael looks around at all the boxes of Ella’s stuff still packed up against the walls. She better not have expected Michael to unpack, because this was all her shit, not his. Plus, she’d told Lucifer she would unpack. And if she wanted to lie to the Devil, that was on her. 

Michael spent a lot of time reading and watching shitty tv over the next few days. Ella only seemed to emerge from hibernation at night after Michael had gone to bed, because he kept waking up to dishes in the sink and food missing from the fridge. It was when the coffee mugs started outnumbering the empty dishes and half-eaten food started piling in the trash can that Michael had had enough. He wasn’t Uriel, but even he could see the pattern forming here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little bad about getting rid of Margaret that quickly, but I don't know anything about chickens and didn't want to mess that up. She'll come back eventually! Also, Michael and Ella's new house is based on a pic I found on Google [here](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/aJoxRQlACy0/maxresdefault.jpg). The inside is completely made up lol


	3. Didn't Need The Extra Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we've reached the chapter I've basically had written since before this story existed. Nervous about posting it cuz I've had it in my phone for so long, but I'm also really happy with it. Also! There is Spanish in this chapter, but I used Google Translate. If it doesn't make any sense, please correct me and I'll edit it! Chapters may come a little slower after this cuz I'm not quite sure where I'm going from here. I have a main plot in mind but how I get there is a mystery. As always feedback is loved and appreciated! Y'all have made me cry so many times now with your kind words. I love you all. Enjoy!!

Noon. He’ll give her until noon. If she’s not up by then, Michael is officially stepping in. He gets up with the sun, as usual. Showers, makes his coffee and breakfast. Reads a bit. Watches tv. Goes over his plan in his head. And waits.

Noon comes and goes.

One o’clock. If she’s not up by—

Two o’clock. Two-thirty. Michael knows he’s just stalling. Three o’clock rolls around and he knows if he doesn’t just get up and do something then he’s never going to. With a deep breath in and out to steady him, Michael heads down the hallway and knocks on Ella’s door. “Lopez?” he says. There’s a grunt in response. “That’s it, coming in.”

Michael swings the door open and is immediately hit with a torrent of smells. Sweat, body odor, old food, and the remnants of fear hanging in the air. Normally fear is just a feeling of cold, but if it festers long enough, it develops its own stench, sharp like metal and sour like bile. It’s how he picked up on Chloe’s insecurities so easily. 

Michael resists the urge to gag and storms into the room. Ella is looking up at him from a nest of blankets on her bed, looking even more haggard than the last time Michael had seen her. She’s still in the same clothes she was in a week ago, though now sporting a few new stains from what looks like food and who knows what else. The room itself is a mess, moving boxes still littering the floor but in varying states of being unpacked. Literally none of them have been unpacked all the way, however, and it looks like Ella had taken maybe one or two things out of each box, given up, and just left them on the floor. Like she was looking for something, maybe? The carpet is matted in a long strip, as if Ella had been pacing for a while. And now that Michael is closer to the bed, yeah, the bile smell wasn’t just her fear he could smell; there’s vomit in the trash can right next to her.

“What are you doing?” Ella squeaks.

“Right, that’s it,” Michael says, ignoring her question. “Up you get.”

Michael grabs Ella around the waist and heaves her up. She shrieks as he half drags, half carries her out down the hall and into the living room. Dad help him, she smells worse than the room does. 

“Michael!” Ella screams, clawing and kicking at him. “ _Déjame ir,_ you dick! _Maldito seas! Bájame, idiota!_ ”

Michael has no idea what she’s saying, but doesn’t quite care anyway. Somehow, either because he’d done literally nothing but sit on his ass all day or maybe because Dad’s doing him a solid, Michael is able to use his bad arm to open the back door and pry Ella’s hands away when she clings to the door frame like a cat.

Michael drags Ella to the side of the pool. “Hold your nose!” he says, and throws her in.

Ella’s scream cuts off as she goes under. She coughs and sputters when she surfaces a second later. “Why did you _do_ that?!” she screams, slapping the water.

“Well I was gonna drop you on the sofa,” Michael sneers, “but then I got a whiff of you. Seriously, Lopez, have you showered once since we’ve been here? Deodorized? Anything?”

Ella, horrifyingly, starts crying. Fuck.

Michael sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “No, here, don’t—Come here,” he groans, beckoning Ella to the side of the pool. He offers her his good hand—a regular gentleman, he’s turning into. Instead of letting Michael heave her onto solid ground, Ella grabs Michael’s wrist with both hands, pushes off the wall, and yanks him with all her might into the water beside her. 

Water instantly rushes up Michael’s nose. He surfaces again immediately, sputtering much like Ella had, to see her already wrapping a towel around herself and heading back inside. She’s still crying.

Michael swims to the stairs and hauls himself onto dry land. He immediately shrugs his jacket and shoes off, taking considerably longer to get his shirt over his head. He swipes a towel from the bin Lucifer has on the porch and wraps it around his waist before shucking his pants off. Another towel goes around his crooked shoulders. 

Not even caring about the water he’s dripping everywhere, especially since Ella is doing the same, Michael storms back into the house.

“I threw you in the pool because you smelled, Lopez,” Michael hisses. “What was _that_ for?”

“Your _attitude_ stunk.”

“Oh ha-fucking-ha.” Michael throws his shoulder-towel down with a wet splat. The smack of it against the ground makes Ella flinch. Dammit. “You haven’t left your room in days, Lopez. You’re not eating, and from the bags under your eyes I’m guessing you’re not sleeping either, are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re drowning.”

Ella laughs darkly and gestures down at herself, still sopping wet. “Yeah, well, seems I didn’t need the extra help then, did I?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Pot, kettle, black, _pendejo._ ”

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t even know what that means,” he says. “Look, the gig is up, Lopez. I’m done sitting on that couch waiting for you to pull yourself together. I’m supposed to be helping you, so dammit, here I am. You’re not fine, you’re fucked up, and I’m gonna do something about it whether you like it or not.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? You want me to call Lucifer and tell him?” Michael snaps. “Tell him all about how _fine_ you’ve been?”

“You wouldn’t and we both know it.” Ella snaps back.

“I’ll call Chloe,” Michael threatens. “I’ll call _Linda_.”

Ella glares, but visibly her resolve is crumbling. “You—”

“Shower, now,” Michael demands. 

Ella throws her arms up, the first ‘Ella’ thing she’s done this whole time. “Ok, ok!” she groans, like a child. “I’m going!”

She storms off and Michael stands there long enough to see her actually go into the bathroom in her room. He lets the towel around his waist drop and hurries into his own room to put on dry clothes. 

“I’m going out,” he calls as he knocks on Ella’s bathroom door. “Take a long one. Use a lot of hot water. Remember, my brother is paying for this place.”

Ella yells something in Spanish at him, but Michael is already on his way out the door. Anger is better than the dead numbness she’s been stuck in, even if it’s at his own expense. 

The last time Michael had seen Linda, he’d swiped some little pamphlets she’d had sitting out on an end table just to be a dick. What can he say? It’s a hobby. But when he’d actually gotten home, curiosity had won out and he’d actually read them. _Depression_ was written on the front, in pale gray-blue block letters. The picture underneath was a horribly simplistic drawing of a woman crying on a couch. 

Ella hadn’t cried that Michael had seen (except in the pool), but the basic information he’d read bore a lot of similarities to his new roommate. And so, with literally nothing better to do, Michael had started doing research.

(Later, Ella would be greatly amused that his version of research was Googling “what girls like when they’re upset” but she gave Michael an A for effort anyway)

Michael would do more, in depth research later. Now, he’d finally gotten Ella up and he had a grocery list to take care of.

——————

Ella is on the sofa when Michael gets back home. He was half expecting her to curl back into the warm embrace of her disgusting sheets, but maybe he’s getting through to her. Or maybe she’s humoring him. Or maybe she just really, really doesn’t want Michael to call Linda. Doesn’t matter to him, so long as it’s working.

“Where’d you go?” Ella asks. She wipes at her eyes, still red and puffy.

Michael plops one of the plastic bags onto the kitchen island. “Walmart,” he says. “Needed supplies for...” he gestures at her vaguely, “this.”

Michael pulls out two different scented bottles of Febreeze and holds them up expectantly. Ella wipes her nose and points to the green one. Pine oak. Sure. Michael winds a rubber band around the nozzle a few times and chucks the bottle into Ella’s room like a grenade. The hiss of aerosol fades as he closes the door. 

“It is not _that_ bad,” Ella says. “Plus, that’s not gonna last. The smell will fade soon.”

Michael doesn’t look away from her as he pulls a bottle of fabric Febreeze out of the bag next. “I also got some of those little scented tree things humans put in their cars. Hope you like ‘white water’ because it’s all they had.”

Despite herself, Ella finds herself huffing out a little laugh. “What else you got in there?” she asks, wincing at the hoarse croak her voice has become.

Another plastic bag comes up from the floor; Ella can see the Ben & Jerry’s label and a huge chocolate bar through the Walmart logo.

“Cookies and cream, right?” Michael asks. “You said it was your favorite on Facebook.”

“Are you stalking me, Michael?” Ella asks, with no heat behind it. No emotion at all, really.

“We live together,” Michael replies, as if that’s an acceptable answer. The implied ‘duh’ is not lost on Ella. “Plus, it’s not my fault Lucifer can’t be bothered to log out when he uses Chloe’s desk computer. She’s just lucky he’s not looking up porn while she does all the paperwork. Honestly.”

Ella rolls her eyes and Michael tosses her the entire pint of ice cream. A spoon soon follows, hitting her on the knee. Ella just stares down at the carton in her hands, letting the cold bite into her palms and fingers. She’s not hungry. She doesn’t want to eat. But she knows she should. Ella holds on just a second after it becomes unbearable and then sets the pint on the coffee table. 

“Can you bring me a towel?” she asks. Michael literally throws a hand towel at her a moment later; it hits her unceremoniously in the face. “Thanks.”

As Ella wraps the towel around her ice cream and pops the top off, Michael hobbles his way over to sit next to her. Another plastic bag hangs from his bad arm. He drops down onto the cushions, obviously far harder than he meant to if his little grunt and grimace are anything to go by, and empties the contents of his bag onto his lap: Ben and Jerry’s vanilla, a spoon, and a matching hand towel.

Ella just stares.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Michael groans as he throws his legs onto the coffee table. “All the vanilla jokes, get it out of your system. If you can actually make one Lucifer hadn’t, I’ll be impressed.”

Instead of replying, Ella shoves a huge spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, eyes never leaving his.

Michael wraps the towel around his ice cream just as Ella had and wedges it between his legs. His bad arm lies flopped beside him, hand curled into some approximation of a fist. He’d thought the shopping would be easy—hold the basket with his bad arm, actually shop with his good one. But apparently whatever particulars Dad put into his punishment zapped his strength faster than he’d anticipated, and he could no longer control the pained twitch seizing his muscles.

If Ella noticed, she doesn’t show it. To be honest, Ella still looks a little dead behind the eyes, but she was eating now. Baby victories, small steps, or whatever Linda said.

“Did you fly there?” Ella asks suddenly.

Michael fixes her with an incredulous look. “I took an Uber,” he says. There’s another ‘duh’ implied, but Ella ignores it.

“Oh,” she says instead. They lapse into silence, Ella eating her cookies and cream, Michael trying to pry the lid off of his vanilla—and failing. Around the fourth time his fingers slip and he almost smacks himself in the face, he tips his head back against the couch and glares up at the ceiling. Or, Ella figures, most likely his Dad. But Ella doesn’t think the Big Guy has any influence over ice cream cartons. 

Then again, Ella didn’t think she would ever actually meet and live with a real angel until just recently, so who knows.

Michael pouts for a few moments before leaning over Ella’s arm and taking a scoop of her ice cream. 

“Hey!” she exclaims.

Michael shoves the spoon in his mouth. “Aren’t you religious types all about sharing and caring and shit?” he asks in response. 

“You gave this to me!

“Which I didn’t need to do, either!”

Ella clacks her spoon against his when he goes in for another bite. She swats it away again and again as he tries to get around her until finally he loads his spoon. Giving Ella a smug look, he pops it in his mouth, not even wincing as the metal hits his teeth. But a second later, his eyes go wide and he grabs his head.

“Brain freeze!” Ella laughs.

“What?” Michael chokes out, panicking. “Oh fuck.”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Press your thumb to the roof of your mouth,” she says. Michael eyes her dubiously but does what she suggests. A second goes by and he relaxes.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks.

“Brain freeze,” Ella says. “If you eat cold food too fast, that happens. A lot of times people say to put your tongue to the roof of your mouth but if you use your thumb it goes away faster. Something about how the ice cream freezes the roof of your mouth and warming it up makes it stop. I don’t know the science behind it but that’s what my _abuela_ taught me and my brothers to do. You just gotta be more careful.”

Michael grimaces as he watches Ella eat her ice cream. His gaze falls to his own pint. Ella hums and takes the carton from between his legs. As she pries the lid off, Michael can’t help but stare at her; that’s the first time she’s willingly touched him. Well, not touched him, but touched something on his person anyway. And between his legs! Her knuckles grazed his pants! Dad help him, first Chloe—

The lid pops off with such force that it flies across the room. “ _Mierda_!” Ella says, laughing. Her chuckles die down as she realizes what just came out of her and she brings her hand to her mouth.

Michael doesn’t think she should think too much about it. She’s laughing, that’s a good sign. “Thanks,” he says as he takes the ice cream from Ella. He wedges it back between his legs but doesn’t start eating just yet. And yeah, maybe he angles it so the coldest part is close to his crotch, but fuck off. “Want to watch tv?” he asks instead of thinking about it anymore. 

Ella doesn’t respond for a moment. “S-sure,” she says. “You didn’t get any cheesy rom-coms, did you? ‘Cause, I mean, ice cream, chocolate—”

“Yeah, no,” Michael says. “I mean, I looked for something decent, but just ended up throwing up in my mouth reading some of the plots.”

That gets a real, loud laugh out of Ella. Michael’s winning all over the place, today. Ella gets up to retrieve the lid to his ice cream and the remote. She flops back down next to Michael and flips the ridiculously large flat screen on. 

“Any preference?” Ella asks.

“Thought you wanted rom-com?”

“Noooo,” Ella scoffs. “I was hoping you _hadn’t_ gotten any. I’m all... romanced out.” And just like that she was frowning again.

Michael takes the remote from Ella and opens Netflix. There are two profiles already logged in: ‘Miss Lopez’ and ‘mikey’. Lucifer hadn’t even bothered to capitalize the horrible nickname he’d given him.

Ella’s brow furrows. “Is your brother aware that I have my own Netflix account?”

“Who knows,” Michael groans. He can only imagine what Lucifer has pre-loaded into his List, so he clicks Ella’s profile instead. 

Michael starts scrolling idly, not stopping long enough for any of the titles to start playing their trailer. Ella keeps eating, but after a minute she makes a startled noise and puts a hand on Michael’s arm. Michael stares at it.

“Was that the kid from _Stranger Things_? Go back!” she exclaims, and Michael clicks back a few shows until he highlights _Prank Encounters_. Ella takes the remote. The trailer starts playing as she reads the description. “There was a show like this years ago with Tracy Morgan. It was a prank show where they scare the shit out of people with like, ridiculous horror movie-plot stuff. It was so funny! This looks like a reboot.” Ella turns to him. “Wanna watch it?”

Michael just stares at her for a second. A prank show... about fear? And that’s what she wants to watch?

Ella must take Michael’s silence as a no, because she turns back to the tv and starts scrolling again. “No, no,” Michael says. “Let’s watch it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m doing this for you, remember?”

Ella rolls her eyes, but hits play. The show is actually pretty enjoyable. It confuses Michael a little, because for all that they both laugh at those poor people’s terrified reactions, every once in a while something makes Ella jump and a jolt of cold hits Michael from the side. It’s faint—not real, true fear—but after what Michael knows Ella has been through and how scared she is just in general these days, he figured the last thing she would want is to be scared by the thing he’s trying to use to cheer her up.

But Michael is not Lucifer. He can admit when he’s wrong. Sometimes.

——————

They watch all eight episodes, and Ella actually feels a little better. As the credits roll on the last episode, she’s pleasantly shocked to find _Scare Tactics_ listed as a suggestion to watch next. She clicks it without giving it a second thought and starts scrolling through, recognizing some of the episodes. Michael is... not _warm_ , next to her, but a body that is so ‘not Pete’ that it’s actually comforting. Despite the incident with the pool earlier, he’s either actually trying to help or putting on a really great act. And at this point, Ella finds she doesn’t care. Clearly the Big Guy himself has given Michael a task, and Michael’s actually making an attempt, genuine or not. And she knows Lucifer will tear his brother limb from limb without hesitation if Ella is hurt.

That should scare Ella, probably, but she’s spent the last week, last couple weeks really, feeling so terrified and depressed and horribly numb that she forces all of that aside to appreciate the clear devotion Lucifer has to his friends, and in this case her. He’d lent her a house! Not that he was exactly strapped for cash, but still! And hiring movers, cleaners—Hell (and that’s capitalized forever in her mind now), he had a security system installed before they’d even finished unloading the truck! Ella isn’t sure how much it will get used since she’s living with a literal Angel, but just knowing it’s there is a comfort. 

He’d also forced his brother into moving in with her. Truthfully, Ella hasn’t let herself think about it too much. She’d only known Michael as the imposter who’d literally kidnapped Chloe. But then the truth about Lucifer and Heaven and the Big Guy came out and Michael being Chloe’s kidnapper wasn’t as black and white as when she assumed he was human. She was still pissed at him, make no mistake about that. But Angels. Fucking _Angels_. Ella, Chloe, Dan, Linda—they must all look like ants to him. Michael’s a powerful being, an ancient Celestial created by God (and his wife? Unpack that later) who reigns over fear and has literal wings hidden in his back! And more crazy powers, probably! And they’re just humans, living and dying in the blink of an eye to him. 

Before Ella starts up the first episode of _Scare Tactics_ , she looks over at the Archangel in question. He’s sound asleep, somehow dozing off before Ella despite how little Ella has actually rested these past few days. And as Ella stares at him, the image of him as this almighty being starts to fade. He looks the closest thing to peaceful as Ella has seen from him. He has more, defined freckles than Lucifer has and darker shadows under his eyes. His upper lip is still slightly creased, the shadow of a sneer never quite going away. The same goes for his brow, the muscles there never quite relaxing completely. The scar that bisects his face is ugly, skin jagged and puckered and angry in the light of the television. 

Ella knows Lucifer gave him that scar. When she’d been initiated into ‘Club Know’, Lucifer had explained all about Michael and what had happened between them at the penthouse. Ella... sort of gets it. She and her brothers had their share of (to them) earth-shattering fights when they were younger, and to say they hadn’t hurt each other purposely out of anger would be a lie; Ricardo has a scar on his chin from Jay hitting him with a toy shovel, after all. Comparing Lucifer and Michael to her very-much-human family helps, no pun intended, keep them humanized in Ella’s mind. It’s easier to think of them as squabbling siblings than beings who could theoretically change the landscape of LA if they really wanted to.

Archangel or not, the scar that mars Michael’s face looks incredibly painful. Truthfully, even knowing and coming to terms with the fact that her friend is the Devil, it’s still concerning to know that Lucifer, her goofy best bud Lucifer, did this. She’s not an idiot, she knows what goes on in Hell—she went to Catholic school, after all. And she’s seen the reports of people he’s shown his ‘Devil face’ to. But Hell is far away, and Lucifer’s Devil face is a psychological horror. In all the years Ella has known Lucifer, he’s never gone as far as physically scarring someone.

That she knows of, anyway. 

Ella doesn’t want to feel bad for Michael; he tricked her, manipulated her friends, and kidnapped Chloe! But—and maybe it’s because Michael’s face is Lucifer’s face and it hurts her heart to see it twisted like that—she can’t help but feel like that scar was just a little too far on Lucifer’s end. Did it have to be so long? How much blood had he lost? Did pain meds even work on Angels? Ella knows Lucifer had been angry (an understatement, really, and she knows it), but surely something else could’ve been better than this?

Ella doesn’t want to think about it anymore. It’s over and done with, after all, and Michael is almost one hundred percent the kind of guy who would get all snappy if she were to bring it up. Plus, hello! Angels! Try as she might, Ella will never truly understand these things, and all she’s doing in trying is upsetting herself. Like, what if there’s a cultural thing she doesn’t know? Scarring each other might be a totally acceptable form of payback in Heaven! 

Though admittedly that seems incredibly unlikely. It sounds more like a Hell thing. Which, hello, Lucifer. Ella’s giving herself a headache.

Next to her, Michael breathes through his nose and shifts. The melting remains of his ice cream are still wedged between his legs. Ella watches Michael’s face for a moment before trying to pry the pint from out of the vice grip he’s got it in. What was once vanilla ice cream is now little more than vanilla soup, and the condensation on the side makes Ella’s hand slip and bump Michael’s leg.

Michael’s eyes flutter open. With a snarl, his right arm comes up—to grab her? Hit her? Push her away?—but almost as soon as he moves it, he jerks like his arm is held back with elastic, and cries out in agony, grabbing at his shoulder. His bad arm. Shit!

Ella jumps up. “I’m so sorry!” she says. The ice cream splatters on the floor.

Michael let’s out a string of curses, cradling his arm against him. “What the fuck?!” he roars.

“It was an accident!” Ella exclaims. “I-I was just—”

But Michael isn’t listening. “Get away from me!” he yells, getting to his feet with difficulty. “Fuck!” He squeezes his eyes closed tightly, trying to breathe through the throbbing, aching pain in his shoulder and back, but it doesn’t pass. He screams in pain and frustration and backs against the window-wall. The flat surface and sudden chill helps a bit in aligning his spine, and after a moment pressed tightly against the glass with his head tipped back, the pain begins to slowly fade. Had he moved too fast? Or lifted his arm too high? That didn’t used to happed.

Michael breathes through his nose and opens his eyes. Ella is still standing next to the couch, crying. That explains the chill he’s feeling. Fuck. He’s scaring her.

“Sorry,” he wheezes. His muscles twitch. 

Ella lets out a sob. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whimpers. “I didn’t know that would happen. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I-I won’t touch you again.” 

What? “You didn’t hurt me,” Michael says, strained. “The muscles are, uh, shot. And I think that’s the most I’ve moved it since, uh... being grounded.” It’s the truth; Michael’s recent lack of divinity has made him less _limber_ than he’d been before all of this, which he hadn’t thought possible. But he’d known that. What he hadn’t known was just how bad it was, apparently. “Had no idea it would hurt like that. Didn’t use to.”

“But I made you do it.”

“You... surprised me. That’s all. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place.”

Ella doesn’t stop crying. She sinks back down onto the couch and drops her head into her hands. Michael swears again and hobbles over to her.

“I’m sorry,” Ella moans behind her hands.

“Stop,” Michael says, sitting down next to her again. “Hey, seriously.” He pulls on one of her arms until she relents and lets him hold her hand. “I’m sorry I... flipped out, like that.”

“You were hurting,” Ella says. “It’s ok.”

Michael sighs and leans back fully on the couch. “No, it’s not,” he replies, keeping his gaze on the ceiling. “You’re... I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It was an accident, right?”

Ella wipes her eyes with the hand Michael isn’t holding and nods. “I was trying to get your ice cream so I could put it back in the freezer,” she explains, still a little teary-eyed. Both of them look down at the rapidly growing puddle of vanilla at their feet.

“I mean, we could probably salvage that,” Michael says after a moment. “Scoop it all back in.”

Ella lets out a small laugh. “Gross,” she says. She sniffles quietly for a moment, staring down at the floor. “You were right, you know,” she says quietly.

“What was that?” Michael asks, cocking his head towards her. “Let me grab my phone so I can get that on record.”

Ella looks up at him and pushes him playfully. “Stop,” she says, but there’s a little smile on her face. “But you are. I’m drowning. I’m either terrified or depressed. And if I’m not, I just—I feel nothing. And that’s almost worse. I can’t sleep. But when I’m awake I think about it too much. About him.”

“Pete.”

Ella flinches. “Yeah. Pete.”

Michael looks down at their hands, his still holding hers. “Well, what I said back at your place was right too,” he begins. “That asshole is locked up. He’s never seeing outside of a prison wall again.”

“I know. It’s just—” Ella takes a deep breath. “I know he’s never getting out. And I know he can’t get me. I _know_ that. But there’s a part of me that’s like—shit, what if this happens again? I used to think I could tell if someone was a good person or not. I mean, I always went after bad boys, but at least I _knew_ they were bad. But Pete—Pete was perfect. He liked everything I did, he didn’t judge me, he was sweet—I really was in love with him. And just when I thought I found an amazing guy, a truly good guy, it turns out he’s a serial killer. I mean, he tried to kill me but said he loved me after confessing to everything! And after what he said, I—” Ella cuts herself off.

“What he said when?” Michael presses. Ella is silent. “Lopez?”

Finally, Ella sighs. “He said... some things to me, when I was trying to get him to tell us what he did with Chloe. Before we knew that was you.” 

Michael pulls a tissue out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Ella. “Like what?” he asks.

Ella takes the tissue and gives him an amused look. “You’re such an old man,” she says before blowing her nose. “Things like... like how I was like his victims because I never shut up. How he thought—how he _wanted_ me to be different, but I was just like the others. He said...” Ella shook her head. “He said we were a lot alike. He said he saw... darkness in me,” she chokes out. “He said he recognized it the moment we met.”

Michael nods. He’d felt as much with Pete’s voice coating her fears. Is that what terrified her so much? That she could be like him? “Well,” Michael says, “I can say this much. All humans have a darkness in them. It’s literally a part of the design. Free will, and all that. Him saying you have darkness in you is just a poor attempt at being edgy. What sets you apart from one another is what you _do_ with that darkness. And from what I understand, you don’t have to worry about a thing. I don’t think you have a nasty bone in your body.”

Instead of making Ella feel better, it seems to make her feel worse. “That’s the thing,” she insists, sobbing. “I _do_!”

“In what way?” Michael snaps. “You’re sweet as pie to literally everyone, you help people with no regard to what you get out of it, you’re cheery and positive—you’re obsessed with hugs and making sure everyone’s ok—what could possibly make you think you’re such a dark person?” 

Ella turns away. “I can’t,” she whimpers.

Now Michael’s getting frustrated. It was going so well! He can’t help her if she doesn’t let him! Dammit, he’s going to have to do this the hard way. She’s not going to like it, but...

“Lopez. _Ella_ ,” Michael says, and Ella finally turns to look at him, tears in her eyes. Michael almost feels bad about this. “Tell me,” he asks, eyes locked with hers, “what is it you truly fear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oopsie


	4. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HO BOY. Buckle up. This is officially the longest chapter!! I have some unique takes on both Ella and Michael's pasts here. I just hope they're not too... out there. Idk. Been thinking about these two ideas for a long time and I'm honestly nervous about it. But I've been saying that every chapter, so I mean... 
> 
> Tags have been updated. Potential TRIGGER WARNINGS for talk of past child abuse and parental death.
> 
> Feedback is always loved and appreciated! I hope you all enjoy!!

“Tell me, what is it you truly fear?”

Ella stares into Michael’s eyes, breath shallow. Michael arches a brow and nods, coaxing her fears to the forefront. Ella’s mouth opens, closes, opens again, and then—

“Are—are you trying to _mojo_ me?” she says. 

And—what?

“Excuse me?” Michael says. 

Ella gasps and pulls away. “You totally were! Weren’t you?!”

“Why didn’t that work?” Michael wonders aloud instead of answering.

Ella abruptly stands, and shit, she’s crying again. But she’s not scared anymore. Michael doesn’t have to have any special powers to feel the rage pouring off of her. But even so, the slap catches him completely by surprise. And it _hurts_ ; Michael’s head snaps sideways with the force of it, and from the way Ella flexes her hand at her side, it hurt her too.

“Here I thought you were actually being sincere!” Ella yells, backing away and wiping tears of anger from her eyes. “ _Pedazo de mierda_ , how dare you?! _No puedo creer lo estúpida que fui_!”

Michael puts his hand over his stinging cheek and shakes his head. “Wait, wait, Lopez, wait, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he says, but this enrages Ella even more.

“ _FUCK YOU_ !!” she roars. She moves forward, to do what Michael isn’t sure, but stops herself with a growl of frustration and storms off towards her room. But just before she gets to the hallway, she turns to look at him again. The tears have stopped, but the look of contempt she gives him is burning. She seems to think to herself for a moment before huffing and bypassing the hallway all together. Michael watches, stunned and confused, as Ella bounds up the stairs to the second floor above. And that—that actually _hurts_ , Michael realizes. More than her slap, more than when she’d beat him up with a shoe. Both times.

It’s no secret that Michael can’t do stairs. He can barely get around the house as it is. So that Ella wants so little to do with him now, wants to be away from him so much, that she’s fled to the one place in this house that Michael _physically_ cannot go aches in a way Michael doesn’t understand.

The show Ella had put on before Michael had woken up plays on as he sits there. Some young woman screams in terror and hot rage licks down Michael’s twisted spine at the whole situation. At Dad, at Lucifer, at Ella, at _everyone_ and _everything_ since the beginning of time. But under that rage is exhaustion, bone-deep, the hurt that confuses the shit out of him, and some other emotion he refuses to examine. He wants to flip the coffee table, throw the sofa through the glass walls, but instead, he just grabs the remote from where it’s fallen at his feet and flicks the tv off. He sits in silence for a moment, seething, before snarling and throwing the remote against the wall as hard as he can; it shatters on impact, the little plastic pieces scattering across the floor. One of them lands in the puddle of ice cream. 

Michael drops his head into his hand and takes a deep breath. He’s angry, yes, but also incredibly confused. Why hadn’t Ella been affected? Never in all of his existence had anyone been able to resist his ability to draw out their fears. Was this another part of his punishment from Dad? Had He taken this away from Michael as well? Even in the height of his exile, Lucifer still had _his_ powers. 

Michael sits in the messes of his own making, taking deep breaths to calm himself. If this truly is another part of Dad’s punishment, there is nothing Michael can do about it. What was that prayer the humans came up with? Give him strength to accept the things he cannot change, and the power to fix the things he can. Or something like that. The problem is, Michael doesn’t think he can fix this. Not on his own.

Damn him to Hell, Michael knows he needs help. He calls Chloe. Amazingly, she answers. 

“Don’t hang up,” Michael says.

She doesn’t. She laughs, first. Then she hangs up.

Michael swallows the growl forming in his throat and counts to ten. He starts texting her instead.

_Michael:_

_It’s about Ella_

Chloe calls him back immediately. “What did you do?” she hisses.

“Hello Chloe,” Michael says, unable to help how irritable it comes out. “I fucked up.”

“Who is it, Detective?” Because of course, Lucifer’s voice says from somewhere in the background.

“Your brother,” Chloe says.

“Well tell him to just hire an actual babysitter,” Lucifer groans, and Michael pictures his brother rolling his eyes. “We’re busy, Amenadiel!”

“Wrong brother,” Michael says. A beat of silence goes by and then there’s fumbling on the other line, like Lucifer has ripped the phone out of Chloe’s hand. 

“Michael,” Lucifer hisses.

“I fucked up,” Michael says again.

“Well, brother, that much is always assumed to be a given, but what _specifically_ have you done this time?”

Michael nearly throws his phone against the wall too, but forces himself to breathe through his anger. “Lopez and I were… talking,” he starts. “It was going ok and then…”

“And then?” Chloe prompts. 

A lie is just forming on the tip of Michael’s tongue, but he finds himself unable or, more confusingly, unwilling to go on with it. So he… tells them the truth. The whole truth. And nothing but the truth. So help him Dad.

Lucifer, naturally, rages. He screams threats and curses into the phone, but Michael is hardly phased. It’s nothing he hadn’t expected, after all. But it’s Chloe’s response that catches him. For one thing, she cuts off Lucifer’s tirade mid threat; Michael continues to be impressed by the way she can just get Lucifer to _stop talking_. There’s another moment of silence, whether for Chloe to gather her thoughts or to have one of those silent conversations with Lucifer that are somehow only conveyed through eye contact, Michael isn’t sure. 

“Michael, listen to me,” Chloe says icily. “And you listen good. You had her at her most vulnerable and tried to force her to confront things she probably never wants to think about again. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to take matters into your own hands when it comes to a person’s recovery. I don’t care if you’re the Angel of Fear or the Angel of fucking Therapy, you don’t get to do that. You are going to fix this. You are going to apologize to Ella and I don’t care if you have to grovel on your fucking knees, you _will_ make this up to her.”

“I don’t know _how_ ,” Michael admits miserably, and it feels like a defeat. 

Chloe takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Ella is a woman of actions,” she says. “There’s a saying here, on Earth—”

“‘Actions speak louder than words’,” Lucifer fills in. He’d probably been dying for another chance to speak, the absolute child.

“Yes,” Chloe says. “Words are hollow—for most people, not you, Lucifer, I know, I know. Michael, you of all people know how truly worthless a person’s word can be.”

Ouch. True, but ouch.

“So, do something for her?” Michael says.

“Something meaningful,” Chloe confirms.

“I’d suggest something shiny and expensive,” Lucifer says, “but I’m not paying for your apologies, Mikey.”

“No, no,” Chloe groans. “Not what I meant. If you buy her something it’ll just look like you’re trying to buy her forgiveness, which you are _not going to do_ ,” she emphasizes.

“If I may suggest,” Lucifer says. “And don’t be petty and not take my advice because it’s coming from me, brother, because we both know you would. Miss Lopez laid herself bare to you, made herself vulnerable because she apparently trusted you for some unfathomable reason. That was her choice, and you tried to force her to give more than she was willing to. You need to show her that she didn’t make a mistake in confiding to you. I believe the Detective is right, Miss Lopez will appreciate a gesture over your ‘hollow words’, though I do advise you apologize verbally in some way anyway. Apologize, then show her how sorry you are with what you do for her. So she knows your word isn’t meaningless and that you are trying to right the wrong you’ve committed on your own instead of because Dad made you.”

Michael blinks, not even sure what to say. Chloe, from the silence, doesn’t either. “Wow,” she finally says.

“See, Detective?” Lucifer practically purrs. “I can learn.”

Michael rolls his eyes, but damn him, Lucifer has a point. “I’ll… try,” Michael says, looking around the living room for some idea of what he can do.

“Well you’d better,” Lucifer says, serious again. “I’ve promised to give you a three-strike system before I beat you senseless for hurting Miss Lopez. Emotionally, I mean. If you hurt her physically,” he scoffs, “not that I think you even could, the way you are now, we both know there’s nowhere in Heaven or Hell that would hide you from me.”

Michael scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says. “Beat me to death with my own wings, I got it.”

“Splendid!” Lucifer exclaims. “Now is that all? The Detective and I were just about to—”

Michael hangs up. 

He cleans up the ice cream and broken remote, since that needs to be done anyway. He stands in the middle of the living room, trying to think of something, anything he could do to convey how sorry he is. And isn’t that weird? He actually _is_ sorry. He wanted to get to the bottom of Ella’s problems, yeah, but he never meant to hurt her. Truly, he hadn’t even been thinking of how it would affect her afterwards at all. Normally, humans are as consequential to Michael as a fly on a window. He’s never cared about their feelings before. But now he lives with Ella. Now he’s, dare he say, responsible for her. And contrary to the rest of the Host’s common beliefs, Michael doesn’t _like_ being alone. He’s a twin, after all, literally created to be one of a set, no matter how damaged that set may be. 

Michael isn’t sure what’s changed now, after living with Ella like this for only a week as opposed to literal centuries of distance from his brothers and sisters, but he’s Angel enough to admit that he’s lonely. He hadn’t even realized it until he and Ella were watching that stupid show, fighting over ice cream like children. He’d missed the comfort another person could bring, even just being in the room. When Ella had fled upstairs, the time they’d spent before made her absence all the more painful, and his own loneliness all the more real.

So suddenly that emotion Michael had felt along with the exhaustion and pain and confusion, the one he hadn’t wanted to even think about, is staring him in the face—guilt. He _is_ sorry that he hurt Ella; he _does_ want to make it up to her. He just doesn’t know where to even start. He thinks of her upstairs, miserable, eventually hiding away with plates and cups like her room on the first floor and—Michael turns to the hallway, suddenly getting an idea. 

——————

It takes him the better part of an hour, but Michael manages to clean Ella’s room to the best of his ability. He strips the bed, changes the sheets, and cleans out her trash can. He takes all the dirty cups and dishes to the kitchen and loads them in the dishwasher. The cold and smell of fear still lingers in the air, but thanks to the Febreeze, no one but Michael would be able to tell. 

All that done, it doesn’t feel like he’s done enough. Ella still has barely-touched moving boxes in her room, so with nothing better to do, Michael starts unpacking them. He puts her clothes in their proper places in the walk-in closet and what toiletries he finds go into her bathroom. He tries to remember what Ella’s bathroom setup at her apartment had been like, but honestly can’t remember anything but that damn chicken. So he wings it (and gets irritated at himself for the accidental pun). 

Michael opens Ella’s blinds and realizes the sun is starting to set. But he finds himself not wanting to stop, not satisfied with his own attempts at making Ella’s room look more like a home. Plus, he’s wide awake from the nap he’d accidentally taken. Michael starts decorating Ella’s room with the knickknacks he finds in the cardboard boxes, straining to remember what stuff went where. But eventually, he gives up trying to copy what she’d had and just… starts making shit up. It’s obvious from the few things left in the boxes that most of her decorations were still out in the living room, but he makes do. A few figurines with huge heads go on the windowsill and family pictures sit on her dresser. A wooden rosary in a velvet pouch gets draped over the lamp next to the bed and a few small framed prayers get hung up on the wall. And still, it doesn’t feel like enough. 

Michael walks back into the living room to see what he can find in the rest of the moving boxes. But then he realizes—he wants Ella to come out of her room more often, so why decorate there instead of out here? The living room, sleek and expensive-looking as it is, is… bland. Not Ella at all. Michael may not give a shit what it looks like, but he’d seen from her apartment that Ella likes her space colorful and personalized. He drags one of the cardboard boxes to the middle of the room and flips it open. Oh, this he can work with!

——————

It’s well past sundown when Michael decides to stop for the night, shoulder and back and leg aching fiercely. He finds himself satisfied with the progress he’s made, but still, not a peep from Ella. Michael still isn’t remotely tired, and even if he was, he doubts he’d stop thinking about Ella and her reaction long enough to get some actual rest. 

Michael casts his gaze to the stairs and sighs. None of this is doing any good if Ella won’t come see it. Before he can talk himself out of it, he begins ascending the stairs.

Literal holy shit, it’s miserable. Between the inactivity of the morning and the overactivity of the afternoon, Michael’s leg hardly cooperates. He leans almost his full body weight on the banister, which luckily doesn’t buckle under his grip, and forces his bad leg to bend for each step. By the time he reaches the second floor, he’s out of breath and his muscles pulse with pain. But he’s made it! 

Michael stands against the wall for a moment, trying to catch his breath, before approaching the door he can hear faint shuffling from. He knocks gently, not wanting to startle Ella. More shuffling, and the door knob clicks locked. That’s fair.

Michael presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, unable to stay standing on his bad leg. His ass hits the floor with a padded bang from the carpet, and he grunts. He can hear Ella approach the door again, but she doesn’t unlock it.

Michael pants, digging his knuckles into the meat of his hip to massage out a particularly tight cramp. It works… a little. He’ll take it. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to do. For all that he’s planned and schemed all these years, since living with Ella he’s been handling shit as it hits him.

Lucifer had said actions would work with Ella, but that he should actually apologize anyway. But Michael… doesn’t know how to do that. Obviously, he could just say ‘I’m sorry’, but it doesn’t feel adequate. He thinks about what Chloe had said, how Michael had tried to pry fears from Ella that she locked away for a reason, never intending to think or speak of them again, and just… starts talking. There’s no conscious decision, no ‘aha’ moment or realization that this is what he needs to say. He just… says it.

“I’m… _terrified_ of my Father,” he says, and something in his chest constricts painfully. He swallows the lump in his throat that forms at the words, balls his shaking hands into fists, and continues before he can stop himself. “When Lucifer… when Lucifer rebelled, I led the Legion of Angels against him and his followers. All of which were also my siblings. I had no idea Lucifer would take things as far as he did, but…” Michael shakes his head, clears his throat. His eyes sting. “I never imagined, in all of my existence, that I would have to fight him that fiercely. We’d never fought before, not like that. Squabbles, sure, but physically? It was horrible. He broke my wing, pulled feathers from the root. I gave as good as I got, but… We almost killed each other. Lucifer knew all of my weaknesses, and I his. But I didn’t exploit them, and Lucifer did. It felt like more of a betrayal than the actual Rebellion. I still don’t know how I defeated him, but when I… when I did, and Father forced me to cast him out… My other brothers and sisters, they cast the rebels they had fought out as well, it wasn’t like it was just me, but… but Lucifer was my twin. _Is_ my twin. Even after all we’d just fought, after all we’d just done to each other in anger, he begged me not to do it. And I… I froze.”

Michael doesn’t realize he’s started crying until a tear drops from his chin onto his pants. He remembers, clear as day, his Father’s Command and the anger behind it, like nothing Michael had ever heard before, remembers Mother crying silently, like Michael himself is now. Remembers his other brothers and sisters, casting their kin out without hesitation at Father’s orders. But Michael…

“I hesitated,” Michael continues, “and Lucifer looked at me with such… such hope. I was furious, but I didn’t want to do this to my twin. And, I don’t know, one of our brothers, on Lucifer’s side, he saw an opportunity in my hesitation. He… he ran me through, with his spear. And if Lucifer hadn’t broken my wing, I could’ve moved fast enough. I could’ve dodged it. The blade went through the joint of my wing, deep into the bone of my shoulder, nicked my spine. To this day I’ve never felt a pain anywhere near… Sandi—our… our brother—stabbed me with such force that I… I fell forward. And pushed Lucifer. I almost fell after him, but Sandi’s spear stabbed through me into the ground, pinned me there. I still had my blade and… I don’t remember much through the pain, but I know I cut him down too, and that he fell as well. Again, I almost fell after him. He never let go of the spear and… as he fell the spear wrenched my spine, twisted me. Sliced up… so much, inside me.”

Michael doesn’t remember much after that, save for screaming, blood, pain, pain, pain, his brothers’ concerned faces, his sisters’ tears. Raphael hovering over him as he faded in and out of consciousness.

“I was out for a long time, after,” Michael says, his voice hoarse with emotion. He wipes his eyes, scrunches his face. “Just, when I finally woke up, and stayed awake, my wings were… ruined. I was so ashamed. I hid them. The first time I’d ever ‘put them away’. They had never been as beautiful as Lucifer’s, none of our wings could hold a candle to his, but they were… so destroyed, so hideous. I was ashamed. And I hid them. The day I woke up… Father—” Michael’s heart is racing. He’s shaking and he can’t see straight past the tears. He can’t stop now, not after all he’s said. “Father came to see me and… for a moment, a split second… when he saw me, with my wings away, there was this look in his eyes…” Michael takes a shuddering breath. “He didn’t see me. He saw _Lucifer_. And in that split second, Father looked at me with such… anger. Such _disgust_ and _contempt_. I thought He was going to smite me, right then and there. It only lasted a second, and I don’t know if He was even aware of it, but… I could never look at my Father the same way again. And I don’t think He ever looked at me the same, either. I was terrified that one day Father would see Lucifer again when He looked at me and finally act on it. But now, Lucifer and Father are starting to patch things up. And now I’m terrified again. Because Father is so close to having his favorite son back. And I’m just… the broken one, the son with ruined wings. The son who hesitated.”

Michael falls silent. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, just sitting in the silence, letting the tears fall. Somehow, the pain in his shoulder and spine has lessened, like a weight has lifted. After a moment, Ella’s door clicks unlocked, and she emerges. Michael opens his eyes and looks up at her. She’s also crying. 

“Why did you tell me that?” she asks quietly, her voice thick with sadness.

“Because I tried to pull your worst fears from you,” Michael replies. “And that wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that. Those are your secrets. And that was mine. I’ve never told anyone any of that. I don’t think I’ve even said any of it out loud.”

Ella slowly sinks to the floor beside him, her arm pressed up gently against Michael’s bad arm. “I’m so sorry that happened,” she says.

Michael shakes his head. “I know my word is shit,” he says, “but I _am_ sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was frustrated, and I didn’t think. But that doesn’t excuse violating your privacy and… betraying your trust like that.”

Ella bites her fingernail, staring down at the carpet; Michael stares at the ceiling. The silence between them is only broken by their occasional sniffles. Ella glances over at him out of the corner of her eye and Michael does the same before Ella looks away again. Michael’s chest tightens again.

“When I was a kid—” Ella starts.

“No,” Michael cuts her off, but Ella puts a hand over his bad one and looks at him again. She curls her knees to her chest and wraps both arms around them, looking like she’s trying to make herself as small as physically possible.

“When I was a kid,” Ella starts again, “my mom used to beat us. With anything she could get her hands on. Me and my four brothers, it was like nothing we did was ever right. Dad had died a little before I was born. There was this one night, when I was little, I was at a slumber party and I got sick. My friend’s mom had to call my mom and she was furious. We were in the car on the way home and mom was—was hitting me from the front seat.”

Ella starts to cry again in earnest now. “Lopez, you don’t need to—” Michael says, but Ella shakes her head and cuts him off.

“I do,” she says. “Because with everything that’s happened with Pete and you and… I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I need to tell _someone_.”

Michael watches her for a moment and nods. “Ok,” he says softly.

Ella nods as well and takes a deep breath. “Mom was hitting me, yelling and screaming. And I don’t know exactly what happened but she lost control of the car. We flipped three times, apparently. There was so much blood. And I was in so much pain. Everywhere, but my leg especially. I’d broken my femur in three places. I remember… we were upside down and Mom was… so still. Her eyes were open. And there was blood everywhere. I, um. I crawled out of the car and there was a girl standing there, smiling at me. She seemed as confused as I was. She—she helped me call 9-1-1 and waited with me until the ambulance got there. She stayed with me all the way to the hospital. No one else could see her but me. I used to think… I used to think God—your Dad—I used to think He sent her and all the things that happened afterwards to punish me.”

Michael stares at her, stunned. “Punish you?” he says. “Why would He punish you?”

Ella digs both fists into her hair. “Because I was _relieved_!” she screams, pitifully. “Mom was _dead_ and I-I was relieved that she was out of my life! What kind of person—wh-what kind of person _thinks_ like that?!” 

Ella collapses into fresh sobs and Michael… Michael doesn’t know what the fuck to say. Of all things, Michael never expected this. But it starts to piece together in his mind: Pete saying he and Ella were alike, the darkness he saw in her that terrified her, the fear of not just him, but that she was as horrible a person as a fucking serial killer. And Michael can’t let that stand.

“Lopez,” he says. “Ella. _Ella_ , listen to me.” Ella sobs, but does look at him. Michael has stopped shaking from his own confession, but his heart is still racing at the thought of fucking this up. “You—you are not a bad person.”

“Yes I am—”

“No, you’re not!” Michael says a little too harshly, and Ella flinches. Fuck! “No, you’re not,” he says softer. “You said so yourself, you were a kid.”

“That makes it worse,” Ella says. “I was a kid and I felt that way. What kind of adult does that make me?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Michael snaps. “Did you _want_ her to die?”

“No!” Ella exclaims and sobs. “No, I-I loved her! She was my mom!”

“Were you _happy_ she died?”

“No! I just wanted her to stop hitting us!”

Michael nods. “A bad person would’ve wanted her to die, Lopez. You didn’t. A bad person would’ve been glad she was dead. You weren’t. You were a kid and all you wanted was for your mom to stop hurting you and your brothers.” Ella’s face scrunches in anguish, and Michael can’t help himself. “Come here,” he says, and wrenches his bad arm up and around her, tucking her close into his side. She buries her face into his neck and wails. “I mean it, Lopez,” Michael says. “You’re not a bad person. I’ve met bad people. You are _nothing_ like them.”

Ella clings to him like she’ll disappear if she lets go, and Michael lets her. The pain in his shoulder is distant. She is more important right now. Michael can’t believe he does it, but he thanks Dad for not letting him rip this from the depths of her mind. He rests his chin against the top of Ella’s head and traces random shapes into her arm with his fingers. They sit there like that, Michael silent and Ella sobbing, for what feels like hours. Michael is exhausted, and he figures Ella has to feel even more strung out.

Eventually, Ella’s cries become little whimpers, then just sniffles. She doesn’t let go of Michael, and he doesn’t let go of her. “I’m sorry,” Michael says into her hair after another moment. “I do hope you’ll forgive me, someday.”

Ella sniffles. “W-well,” she says, “you know us religious types. Sharing and caring and forgiveness and shit, right?”

Michael huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

Ella shifts so she can look up at him and Michael lets his bad arm fall loose. It’s cramping now, from holding her tighter than he realized, but he doesn’t let the pain show on his face. “I’m sorry I hit you,” Ella says.

Michael… honestly kind of forgot about that. “Water under the bridge,” he says.

“Can we… start over?”

Michael quirks a brow at her. “Sure?”

Ella shifts so that she’s facing him on the floor. She holds her hand out and smiles as best she can, given the circumstances. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Ella Lopez.”

Ah, ok. Michael takes her hand with his good one and shakes it. “Michael,” he says. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Ella chuckles and wipes her eyes. “Ugh, I’m such a mess,” she groans. “What time is it, even?”

“Late, I know that much. You look like Hell.”

Ella laughs. “There he is,” she says, but there’s humor in her voice. Ella wipes her eyes again and takes a deep, settling breath. She stands and looks down at him, almost expectant.

Michael looks away. “I can’t get up,” he admits, and it feels as much a defeat as admitting to Chloe that he didn’t know how to apologize. 

“Good thing I’m here, then,” Ella says, and hefts Michael’s good arm over her shoulder. With their combined effort, Michael staggers to his feet. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I, uh, I changed your sheets and stuff. Why don’t you head on downstairs.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“I mean it was literally the _least_ I could do.” Michael gestures vaguely to the stairs. “Go on,” he says, “I’ll be down in a minute. This may take a bit.”

Ella watches him for a moment before nodding and heading down the stairs. Michael is glad for it. She’s already helped him stand like he’s an invalid, he doesn’t need her to hold his hand down the fucking stairs, too.

As Ella makes her way downstairs, Michael rolls his shoulder and takes inventory of his aches and pains. He hurts about as much as he’d figured he would, but he feels… lighter, almost. That bone-deep exhaustion is still there, but it’s lessened. And he almost feels… good, inside. He brushes himself off and straightens his shirt from where Ella had clung to him, phantom feel of her body fading, and he realizes with a jolt that despite the obvious fear and pain that had radiated off of Ella in waves, Michael had felt nothing but warmth from her at his side.

——————

The first thing Ella noticed as she walks downstairs is how… colorful it suddenly looks. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the sight: Michael had decorated almost every square inch of the living room and kitchen in her stuff. Her Funko Pops are dispersed throughout the kitchen, next to appliances and set up like they’re having conversation. Her _abuela_ ’s cross hangs above the doorway. Her alarm clock is next to the Keurig, confusingly, but several of her novelty mugs are sitting beside it. In the living room, movie posters line the walls (admittedly way lower than they should have been), and more of her Funko Pops decorate the mantle above the fireplace. Her DVD collection is set out on one of the accent tables with her Yoda book end holding them straight. Whatever didn’t fit on the table has been piled on top in a little pyramid of cases. Ella’s actual books and comics are crammed into a bookcase she hadn’t even realized was there, close to the breakfast bar. On top of the shelf is her toy lightsaber collection, lined in rainbow order, as well as her Kylo Ren and Darth Vader Funko Pops on either side. Ella realizes the only reason those two are there as opposed to any of the others is because the happen to be holding lightsabers themselves. Ella steps further into the living room and finds her Xbox completely set up on an end table Michael had clearly dragged next to the tv. One of her tapestries is draped over the coffee table like a tablecloth. The blanket Aunt Roselita knitted her is folded on the sofa. Ella’s curtain of beads hangs in the doorway to the hall to her room, and she can only imagine what he’s done to her room itself. There’s so much more to look at, so much more he’s put out while she was wallowing upstairs, and it overwhelms her.

Michael finally descends the stairs and catches Ella crying again. “Fuck,” he says. “I knew I didn’t do it right.”

Ella throws her arms around his waist and cries into his chest again. “It’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you, Michael.”

Michael is stiff under her arms, but eventually melts into her embrace. Ah, he’s like Lucifer, then. She’ll have to work on that. But surprisingly, unlike Lucifer, he wraps his good arm around her almost immediately after she grabs him and rests his forehead in her hair.

“You’re welcome,” he says. Ella lets him go and he clears his throat, looks away. He’s blushing, and isn’t that interesting. “There’s, uh, there’s still some stuff I didn’t know what to do with,” he says. “And I found some stuffed animals in a few boxes but I know you said for Lucifer to leave all your fuzzy stuff back at your apartment, so I put them all in one box.”

“Furry,” Ella corrects gently. “But it’s ok. They’re two different things.” Ella bites her lip, looking… almost nervous? “Where, uh, where are they?”

Michael gestures towards her room and Ella takes off down the hall. He follows after her slowly, but she’s not in her room. He hears shuffling from the closet and stands in the doorway. Ella is elbows deep in the box of her stuffed animals, and suddenly she gasps and pulls one of them out with so much enthusiasm that the other spill out onto the floor. 

“Eddie!” She exclaims, tears in her eyes again as she runs out of the closet. She’s going to fry up with all the crying she’s done today. Michael watches in confusion as Ella cradles the beat-to-shit-looking stuffed bear to her chest. “Where did you find him?”

Michael blinks down at her. “It, uh, he? Was in a box with a bunch of your clothes.” Never in a million years will he ever admit that it was the box of bras he’d found it in, but that’s beside the point. 

Ella holds the bear at arms’ length. “How did you get in there?” she asks the thing, before hugging it to her chest again. As if realizing what she’s doing, Ella brings the bear down to her lap and clears her throat. “Thank you,” she says, embarrassed. “This is, uh, the bear my _abuela_ got me when I was a baby. I-I don’t sleep with him anymore, but… I like having him close.”

That must’ve been what Ella had been looking for while she was hiding away from the world. If the bear made her feel better, who was Michael to judge? But he had to wonder—“Eddie?”

Ella chuckles and stands. “I couldn’t say Ts when I was a kid,” she explains. “So ‘Teddy’ became ‘Eddie’ and it just kinda stuck.”

“That’s adorable,” Michael says teasingly, but he finds he actually means it.

Ella scoffs and playfully hits him on the arm. She seems to just then realize the state of her room, more specifically her bed and the clean sheets and comforter on it, and falls silent. 

“You really did all this for me,” she says.

“Yup.”

“But your shoulder—”

Michael waves her off. “It was worth it,” he says. As she looks around the room, he finds himself strangely uncomfortable. Self-conscious, even. “I, uh, I-I hope I didn’t mess anything up. I was… kinda flying blind here.”

Ella snorts at Michael’s accidental pun, and before long, she’s outright laughing, the tears in her eyes from humor now instead of sadness. Michael can’t help but laugh a bit with her, especially after she snorts and falls back onto her bed. 

“Dude!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, walked right into that one.”

“More like flew!”

Michael shakes his head. “Alright, alright,” he says, but he’s smiling. 

Ella laughing eventually turns into a painfully wide yawn. Michael looks away awkwardly, not sure what exactly to do now. Damn him, he realizes with a start that he’d put her clock in the kitchen just because it had been in the box in the kitchen at the time. It was probably so fucking late. Or early, now.

“Well, I should…” he starts, and Ella rubs her eye.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

Michael shuffles to the door. “I’ll just go then,” he says. “Goodnight, Lopez.”

Ella smiles softly at him. “Goodnight, Michael,” she says back. Just before he closes the door, she says, “I, uh, I-I’ll try to actually… come out of my room, tomorrow. I’ll try.”

Michael gives her a soft smile and nods. “Do what you can,” he says, and closes the door.

Ella lays back on her bed and sighs. She pulls back the comforter and the breeze of it ruffles something she hadn’t noticed out of the corner of her eye. Ella rolls off the bed and finds a single, broken black feather fluttering across the carpet. She picks it up and her fingers tingle, like the warmth from when your hand wakes back up from falling asleep but without the pins and needles pain. Ella twirls the feather and a soft rainbow catches in the light like that of oil. It’s beautiful, despite being broken and slightly raggedy, and holding this feather, Ella feels… comforted. Relieved. Unburdened in a way she can’t explain. 

Ella puts Eddie on the end table next to her bed and tucks the feather underneath him. She brushes her fingers over the inky black one more time before flipping off the light.

That night, she sleeps better than she has in months.


	5. Be Not Afaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight TRIGGER WARNING for panic attacks and flashbacks to past trauma. 
> 
> I present: plot disguised as filler. Enjoy!

Michael doesn’t want to say he’s surprised when he sees Ella the next morning, but he is. And not just that, she looks rested. Still not back to normal, but the bags under her eyes are lighter at the very least. Michael pauses from his place at the breakfast bar as she walks past him, coffee cup to his lips and brows up to his hairline. 

Ella smirks as she puts her hair up in a messy bun. “What?” she says. “I told you I’d try. That didn’t mean I was getting up with the sun.”

Michael looks at the clock; it’s almost noon and he hadn’t even noticed. “Just surprised you’re awake at all, really,” he says as he puts his coffee down. “How’d you sleep?”

Ella smiles softly. “Pretty good.”

“Good.” 

Ella fixes herself coffee and sits down next to him, on his left side, his good side. “How ‘bout you?”

“Fine.” Which is… not a lie. Michael’s shoulder and spine ached all night, and sleeping on his back always made him stiff in the morning anyway. But sleeping on his stomach was out of the question. 

“So what’s the plan for today?”

“Beats me,” Michael shrugs. “Should start at least _trying_ to get you back to normal, though, right? Maybe get out of this house.”

Ella yawns and puts her head down on the bar, facing him. She looks him up and down, brow furrowed. “Did you sleep in that?” she asks.

Michael looks down at himself. He’s still wearing the turtleneck and slacks he’d changed into after taking a dive in the pool, and even he can see how wrinkled they are; the slacks alone would have Lucifer losing his shit.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Michael takes a swig of coffee, embarrassed, “don’t have anything else.”

Ella picks her head up. “What?” she says incredulously.

“Not everyone spent the week in the same shirt and pants,” Michael retorts.

“Yeah but you don’t have anything else? _Nada_? Didn’t Lucifer get you clothes?” Michael pushes away from the bar, but Ella’s hand on his arm stops him. “Look, look, I’m sorry, I’m just confused. How do you not have anything else?”

Michael slumps back down in his seat. “Everything _Lucifer_ got me was all shit _he_ would wear,” he sneers. “Everything I got myself I’ve already worn and slept in. Or swam in.”

“So I don’t see the problem.”

Michael takes a steadying breath. Chews his lip. Looks down at Ella. Sighs. “I…” he looks away. “I can’t… fit into the stuff he got. They’re too… too _tight_. Hurts to get in and out of.”

To her credit, Ella doesn’t make fun of him or even act surprised. “I gotcha,” she says instead, nodding. “So do you not know how to work the washer, or…?”

Michael scoffs. “What washer?” he says. “My brother owns almost exclusively dry cleaning. Why would he have a washer and dryer in a house he doesn’t even live in?”

Ella blinks up at him. “Then… what happened to my sheets?” she asks. Michael points to the backyard; the black bag stuffed nearly to burst with her sweaty sheets and comforter lays next to the door. “Oh my gosh. Ok. Um… Yeah, we gotta do something about that.”

“Very _good,_ ” Michael says sarcastically; Ella playfully slaps his arm.

“Smart ass,” she says. “Go get your stuff and I’ll go get dressed. I’d say a trip to the laundromat is in order. That counts as getting out of here, right?”

Michael doesn’t know what a laundromat is, but he isn’t about to argue. He shuffles to his room and gathers all the clothes he’s literally let drop onto the floor after taking them off. He’s slower than Ella, apparently, because when he looks up to dump everything in the hamper, she’s standing in his doorway, wearing an LAPD t-shirt and jeans.

“What are you wearing?” Michael says, unintentionally echoing their earlier conversation.

Ella waves her arm. “Clothes?” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I thought we’re trying to get you back to normal,” Michael says.

“Your point being?”

“Go put on something more…” Michael gestures at her, “Ella.”

“Seriously? You’re going in what you slept in!”

“I don’t have anything else, remember?”

Ella groans. “Then you pick something,” she says, stepping back to allow Michael out of his room. “You put everything away, after all. Let me see what kind of skeletons _you_ have in _your_ closet in the meantime.”

Michael rolls his eyes as he heads into Ella’s room. Everything he owns that wasn’t something Lucifer bought is in his hamper, now. Literally everything. He doesn’t own any actual _stuff_ and he’d already eaten the takeout from Lux. The most she’ll find is empty hangers; Michael had stuffed all of Lucifer’s _generous gifts_ back into one of the moving boxes.

Ella’s closet, by comparison, is extremely colorful. She has enough novelty t-shirts to clothe a small army. Michael flicks through them idly, recognizing some of them from when he’d unpacked for her. Most of the references go straight over his head, but one is just muted enough in color and relevant to Ella’s normal life that it catches his eye. It’s pastel blue with white letters; _CHICKENS_ , it reads, with a chicken pictured under it and more text under that, _the pet that poops BREAKFAST_. And, ok, Michael has to admit, that’s pretty funny.

Ella is still in Michael’s closet when he emerges from Ella’s room. She’s just sitting on the little seat in the walk-in, staring at the wall of empty hangers and drawers. “Lopez?” Michael says, rapping his knuckles on the doorway.

Ella turns, and shit, she looks all sad again. “Hey, sorry,” she says. “I was just… I know you said you didn’t have much, but…”

Michael sighs and sits down next to her. “I originally wasn’t planning on staying, uh, down here for that long,” he says. “After Lucifer came back I just got enough for a couple days from that Good Will store. They had some pretty good deals.”

Ella scoffs in amusement and shakes her head. “Yeah, ok, then we really need to get you some more stuff,” she says. “Where’s the stuff Lucifer got you?” Michael kicks the box over to her and she dives in. The first thing she pulls out has her face twisting up. “I know Lucifer really knows his stuff,” she says, “but this is all stuff _he_ would wear. No wonder you don’t want to wear any of it.”

No mention of what he’d admitted to her, Michael notes, and he appreciates it. “Yeah, Armani isn’t really my thing and there wasn’t a Burberry in my color,” he jokes, tossing Ella the shirt he’d picked out. She takes one look at it and smiles.

“Ooh,” she says, “good choice. Here, turn around real quick.”

Michael turns, and holy _shit_ , he can hear the whisper of fabric on skin behind him. She’s just changing _right there_ ?! But then she’s touching his arm, done before he can even process that she’d just been half naked _right next to him_ and all he can do is stare down at her dumbly.

“Ready?” Michael chokes out, his voice cracking to his absolute horror. But if Ella notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, let’s hit it!” she says, and heaves Michael’s hamper over her shoulder. “Go grab the bedding. I’ll meet you in the car.”

Michael complies, and gets all the way out the back door before realizing he hasn’t breathed at all in the past minute. He picks up the trash bag of Ella’s sheets and shakes his head, embarrassed at himself. This _can’t_ be happening again. A human, _really_? First Chloe, and now—Michael takes a deep breath and heads out front to Ella’s car. He’s an Angel of the Lord, he’s not some horn dog like his brother. 

Ella is waiting with the car running, fiddling with her phone in her lap as Michael shoves the bedding in the backseat. “Any requests?” she asks, gesturing to her phone.

“I wouldn’t know,” Michael says. 

Ella quirks her lips and peers back down at her phone. “Kinda in the mood for… something rough,” she says.

“Rough?”

“Yeah, like rock or metal or something, you know?” Ella grimaces. “No, wait, you wouldn’t,” she says, though not unkindly. Just like it had slipped her mind.

“It’s your car,” Michael says, “your phone, your pick.” Music has always been Lucifer’s thing; Michael’s just never found anything that stuck out to him like it seems to do with his brother.

“How do you know all about,” Ella gestures to her phone, “like, a lot of human stuff? I mean not everything, obviously, but you seem to know more than Amenadiel did, apparently, when he first got here.”

Michael chuckles, wishing he’d gotten to see Amenadiel try to adapt to living with the humans. “Unlike some of my siblings,” he says, “I’ve been to Earth before. How else do you think I knew what clothes to buy, or how to buy them?”

“You’ve been here before?” Ella asks, picking at Michael’s sleeve. “In like, what, the seventies? I mean, the tweed, _really_?”

Fuck. Michael turns away, starting to sweat; he knows it’s not because Ella hasn’t put the A/C on yet, he _knows_ that, but he still can’t help but lie to himself. “Roll the windows down or something, will you?” he says, harsher than he’d meant to. But his heart is starting to beat faster; he doesn’t want to think about it, refuses to think about it. Nothing good ever comes from thinking about—

Despite what he’d just asked, the window descending startles Michael out of his thoughts. “Sorry,” Ella says softly; Michael doesn’t reply, just stares out the window as Ella backs the car out of the driveway. “Um, here.” Ella drops her phone into Michael’s lap, not looking at him. “You pick something. Maybe we can find you something you’ll like.”

Michael sighs and starts scrolling through her phone. He picks a song, something upbeat and cheerful, lets it play out, picks another, equally as upbeat and cheerful, lets that play out. They’re just noise to Michael, and it seems like even Ella isn’t into them. Michael scrolls back to the top of her song list and taps something at random. Ella gasps happily as the song starts up. It’s different. It’s… _rough_ , he realizes, like Ella had described. Loud and fast, electric guitar screaming and a beat that reverberates through the entire car. Michael can feel his heart beat in time with the music and his eyes widen. 

And then the singer starts to sing—

Ella starts singing along, word for word, which shouldn’t surprise Michael, but it does. And the words themselves, fuck, they _resonate_ with him. “ _Cut me open_ ,” Ella sings, “ _and tell me what’s inside. Diagnose me, ‘cause I can’t keep wondering why_. _And no, it’s not a phase ‘cause it happens all the time—_ ”

The song is four minutes and twenty-two seconds long, and Michael just sits there in silence, eyes wide, listening, taking it in. The singer talks about not understanding why his mind is the way it is, why he doesn’t fit in, and how everything feels so overwhelming. Obviously Michael can’t relate to all of it, but so much of it is what he has felt, felt _recently_ , even, and suddenly Michael can understand his brother’s love of music. He needs more.

All too soon, though, Ella is parking and turning the car off. “I take it you liked that one?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says, “yeah it was, uh…”

Ella smiles. “C’mon,” she says. “I brought my headphones. We can listen to more while we wait.”

Michael takes his own hamper this time and follows Ella into what must be the laundromat, a small, dingy, harshly lit store with washers lining one wall and dryers lining the other. The whole place smells floral. There are a few plastic chairs scattered here and there, and a cheap looking faux-leather couch against the front window. Ella throws her purse onto the couch and starts pushing Michael towards it. She shouts something about saving it for them and rushes off to start a load of laundry.

Michael plops down onto the couch and pulls one of the nearby chairs over for his bad leg. There are maybe three other people in the building other than the two of them, so he doesn’t understand the rush to claim the sofa. But whatever. Ella obviously knows what she’s doing. He hopes.

Ella sits down next to Michael a few minutes later and pulls her headphones out of her purse. She connects them to her phone and hands one of the earbuds to Michael. “So, Bring Me The Horizon, ok,” she says, and starts scrolling through more songs. “You trust me?”

“Sure,” Michael says, not even thinking about it. Ella scoots closer to show him what she’s having him listen to, and Michael finds himself smiling. He’s actually excited to hear more, if what she has gets to him like that last song had. He doesn’t realize, until two or three songs in, what he’d said—and the fact that Ella is sitting on, leaning against, his right side. His bad side. And he doesn’t mind.

At some point, Ella gets up to switch over the laundry. She puts Michael’s clothes in next and when she comes back, she yawns. “Gonna be a bit longer,” she says. “Bedding takes longer to dry.”

Michael nods and they go back to the music. Ella shows him a few different singers—bands, she explains—other than the first one they’d listened to, and eventually just hands him her phone for him to look through. Some songs connect with him, some don’t, but whatever rock and metal mean, Michael realizes he likes them, regardless.

Eventually, Ella’s earbud falls out of her ear and she slumps against Michael’s bad side. He pauses the music, realizing that Ella has fallen asleep against him. Michael shifts, to do what even he’s not sure, but before he can really move, Ella’s head slides down his arm and onto his lap; her head is a heavy weight of warmth on his thigh. 

Michael starts to sweat again, mouth dry. He lifts his bad arm, unsure where to put it without straining it, and settles on resting his hand on her shoulder, his thumb unconsciously brushing back and forth over the fabric of her shirt. Ella nuzzles into Michael’s thigh and he nearly chokes. Again, first Chloe, now—But this isn't like Chloe, Michael realizes. Chloe had… influenced… things, and Michael can’t lie and say this isn’t starting to do the same to a vastly lesser degree, but it still feels different. Chloe had acted with purpose, trying to get a specific reaction out of Michael. Ella isn’t. This was an accident. But even other than that, Michael stares down at Ella’s head in his lap and feels his chest tighten in a way it hadn’t with Chloe. 

With Chloe, Michael had felt—ugh—a _desire_ he’d never felt before, but emotionally he’d felt nothing towards her other than the obvious excitement (he knows how these things work; he’s immortal, after all). Now, though, Michael can’t quite put a name to what he’s feeling, but the fact that he’s feeling something _other_ startles him. As his physical reaction dissipates, he still feels… warm inside. Comfortable, even under the confusion and slight panic he’s working himself into. Ella looks so content, face utterly peaceful in sleep. Her mouth, still baring the ghost of a smile, is parted just slightly, breath brushing against Michael’s pants. Unconsciously, she’s curled her legs up onto the rest of the sofa, allowing her to curl up beside him. Her skin is so warm under the fabric of her shirt; Michael’s shoulder starts to ache, but he ignores it. 

Michael looks around the laundromat to see if anyone is watching. Why, he doesn’t know; it’s not that he cares what any human thinks, but he feels oddly… self-conscious, sitting there with Ella sleeping against him, completely unaware. But no one is watching. No one gives a shit. So neither does Michael. He takes the earbud Ella had dropped and presses it into his other ear before hitting play on the music. Harsh guitar riffs, vicious drum beats, and the warmth of Ella’s body make the rest of the world fade away.

——————

Later, Michael has no idea how much later, Ella stirs. Michael lifts his hand from her shoulder so harshly that he tweaks a muscle in his own shoulder as she rolls flat onto her back and looks up at him sleepily.

“Maggle?” she slurs, rubbing one eye. Michael pauses the music and takes an earbud out.

“Hi,” he says. 

“D’I falla ‘sleep?” Ella yawns. “Oh shit, what time is it?”

Michael checks the phone. _Oh shit_ is right; it’s been three hours! Had he really sat there listening to music that whole time? “You, uh, fell asleep,” Michael says dumbly. He passes her the phone and she gasps.

“Oh em gee,” she says. “I slept _that_ long?”

“Clearly you needed it.”

Ella shakes her head and breathes out. “Damn, I guess so. Sorry.” She says as she sits up fully and wipes her mouth; at some point, she’d drooled. “Shit, let me go throw your clothes in the dryer. Oh man, this has _never_ happened.” Ella rushes off with a string of Spanish under her breath and Michael shakes his head. She returns a few minutes later and plops back into her spot, hands on her knees. “You could’ve woken me up, you know,” she says.

And that’s just it—damn him, Michael hadn’t _wanted_ to wake her up. And he’s nothing if not selfish. So he just shrugs. “I didn’t care,” he says. Selfish and a _liar_.

Ella chews her lip, not looking up at him. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” she groans. “Now it’s—what—almost four? Shit. Did you eat this morning? Are you hungry? Should we get food? We should get food, right?”

“Lopez, Lopez,” Michael says, amused and relieved at how flustered Ella is; at least he’s not the only one weirded out by the whole thing. “Easy. Breathe.”

Ella takes a breath and laughs it out. “So much for ‘back to normal’,” she says.

“I don’t know,” Michael replies, slipping back into the cool, calm, and collected role he doesn’t feel. “Haven’t heard you talk that much that fast until now, so—”

“Yeah?” Ella exclaims, holding up a fist and laughing. “You wanna go?”

“After my clothes are done, sure.”

Ella laughs again and falls back against the couch. “And here I was gonna take you shopping after all this,” she says.

“Oh no, what _ever_ shall I do?”

Ella crosses her arms. “But seriously, though, wanna go get some clothes? I know it’s kinda my fault you sat here all day.”

And now that she mentions it, Michael realises his spine and shoulder are aching. He’d been so focused on the music and Ella’s presence that he’d almost… forgotten. Huh. “Another time, maybe,” Michael says. “Though food does sound good right about now. Let’s call it… an excuse to go out again tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ella collects her things and stands up. “There’s a little deli right across the street. Wanna run there while we wait for the last load to dry?”

Michael shrugs. “Sure,” he says, and follows her out the door.

If Michael thought the laundromat was small, the deli is microscopic. There’s only room for three two-person tables, and even that’s pushing it. But it’s clean and it smells delicious, and the little Italian man who waits on them seems to know Ella on a first-name basis, so Michael doesn’t complain. 

“I used to come here a lot when I started working at the LAPD,” Ella explains around a bite of her cold cut. “It was on the way to and from my first apartment. When I moved to the apartment I have now I had to stop coming here as much.”

Michael takes a bite of his own cold cut (Ella’s recommendation) and nods. “It’s good,” he says, and Ella smiles.

“We could make this a thing,” she says, “when we do laundry. Though hopefully it’ll be a lunch thing and not a…” she looks at her phone, “linner thing.”

“Linner?”

“Y’know, lunch and dinner combined? Like, too late for lunch, too early for dinner?”

“You’re weird, Lopez.”

Ella laughs loudly and Michael’s chest tightens again. He feels warm, but the rest of the reaction from earlier, the physical, doesn’t follow. Ella has a weird laugh, admittedly; harsh, snorting almost, which should be annoying as Hell, but suits her. Michael finds he wants to hear it more.

Before Michael can even ponder that revelation, Ella opens her mouth to say something, but closes it quickly. She looks away.

“Something on your mind?” Michael asks before taking a huge swig of his Sprite.

Ella shakes her head. “No, I just…” she pauses. “It’s dumb.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “No, really, go for it,” he says, grinning. “I’m in a good mood. Lay it on me.”

Ella smiles sheepishly. “Fine,” she says. “It’s just… Can I ask a personal question?”

Michael’s grin disappears. “Depends,” he says, “do I get one, too?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Sure,” she says. “And, like, you don’t have to say yes. I’ll still answer your question, no problem. Um…” Ella looks around nervously, but other than the guy behind the counter, no one else is in the deli but them. Even so, she leans forward. “I was… wondering… if maybe I could… y’know, if—if you don’t—if it’s not weird… And—and let me know if this is, like, totally some Angel social taboo or anything—”

“Lopez,” Michael urges, leaning in as well.

“Ok! I was,” Ella sighs, “wondering if… I could… _see_ them.” She looks around again. “See your… wings.”

Michael pulls back and sits up straight in his chair. She wants to see his wings? _His_ wings? “Excuse me?” he says.

“Ok, see!” Ella exclaims, pointing at him. “I knew it was dumb! This is totally inappropriate, isn’t it? Shit, just—just forget I asked.”

“No, wait.” Michael tries to wrap his head around this. Ella knows his wings are fucked up; he’s said as much, and Dad only knows what Lucifer and Amenadiel have told her. Where did this even come from? “Why?” Michael asks.

“Is that your question for me?” Ella asks, trying and failing miserably to lighten the mood.

“Lopez, they’re not…” Michael wipes a hand over his face. “They’re not like _Lucifer’s._ They’re not pretty.” 

Understatement, really.

Ella picks at the napkin on the table in front of her. “I’m tired of pretty,” she says, and fuck, she sounds exhausted.

They’re both quiet, Michael just watching her and Ella refusing to look up at him. Despite the fact that he’s only known her for little more than a week, Michael gets the feeling that Ella doesn’t want to gawk or compare him and his brother. It’s deeper than that. In fact, at her words there’s a chill in the air, and Michael thinks he gets it, somehow: Pete had been _perfect_ on the surface—she’d even said so herself. But inside he was as rotten as they come. _Pretty_ was the smell of lilies and hands around her neck. She didn’t want _pretty_. She wanted something _real_.

Michael swallows thickly and sighs. “Not… here,” he says, though that’s obvious; Ella looks up at him in shock. “Later. Not… not tonight.” He’s aching a bit too much and too emotionally stressed to show her tonight. “Tomorrow.”

“R-really, you don’t need to—” Ella starts, but Michael cuts her off.

“Not a big deal,” he lies, blatantly, and he thinks Ella can tell but she says nothing. She doesn’t look happy, either. Michael clears his throat. “Think the laundry’s done by now?”

Ella nods and the two of them clean up their trash. Ella bids the little Italian man farewell and they make their way back to the laundromat without a word. How did they always get to these awkward silences?

When all the laundry is clean and dried and packed back into Ella’s car, Michael finally speaks. “So your music is, uh,” he pauses as Ella looks at him, “good. Rock, you said? I liked it.”

Ella takes it as the olive branch he presents it as and smiles softly. “Oh yeah?” she says as she pulls out her phone. “Like what?”

——————

They’re home for all of two minutes when Lucifer calls. 

“How’s Miss Lopez?” he asks.

Michael turns to face her just as she screams, “ _DISRESPECT YOUR SURROUNDINGS!!_ ” along with her phone and kicks over one of the stools at the breakfast bar with all the gusto of someone starting a riot.

As she headbangs and rocks the air guitar, Michael smiles. “Better,” he says.

“Excellent!” Lucifer exclaims. “So there’d be no problem with a little visit?”

Michael’s heart sinks. Fuck, having Lucifer at the house is the literal last thing he would ever want. “Up to Lopez,” he says, hoping his brother would just take ‘she says no’ from him as an answer. But Lucifer, the prick, knows him better than that.

“Put her on, would you?” he asks. 

Michael groans and signals Ella to shut her music off. He hands her the phone and flops down onto the sofa. “Hey, Lucifer!” Ella says. “Yeah, we’re doing great! Michael and I took a little field trip. No, no, just the laundromat. Not everyone has thousand dollar underwear, dude.” There’s a pause. A long pause. Ella looks over at Michael with wide eyes and brows raised. Michael keeps his expression as neutral as he can. “Um, actually, Big Guy,” Ella starts, “I’d love that, but there’s a _Star Trek_ marathon coming on tonight and I was gonna start introducing Michael to the good stuff, if he’s up to it.” She’s _lying_ , holy shit. “Twelve hours, can you believe it! I mean you’re welcome to join us, if—” another pause, and Ella grins. “No? Aww, ok,” she says, and now Michael’s eyes are wide. “Maybe this weekend we can all get together? Yeah? Great! I’d love that! I’ll talk to you later! Bye!”

Ella hangs up and hands Michael his phone before plopping down next to him on the couch. “What the fuck was that?” Michael asks.

Ella looks up at him innocently. “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, and this time, the lie is incredibly bad. “Nope. What was what?”

Michael scoffs. “How is it,” he starts, “that you can lie like a rug one minute and then fail so miserably the next?”

“Wh-who said it was a lie?”

“Lopez, come on. You’re better than that. You didn’t need to do that.”

Ella huffs. “Who said I did it for you?” she says. “Maybe there _is_ a _Star Trek_ marathon tonight.”

“Is there?”

Ella looks away. “No.”

“So you’re lying to the Devil now.”

“I’m… bending the truth,” Ella defends. “He does it all the time! I was gonna watch… something tonight. _Star Trek_ was just… the first thing that came to mind.” And shit, she looks upset again.

“Is _Star Trek_ the thing with the plastic sticks?” Michael asks, trying to get her mind back from wherever it’s wandered.

Ella damn near chokes. “Plastic sticks?!” she exclaims. “They’re _lightsabers,_ dude, and no, that’s _Star Wars_. _Totally_ different!”

“Really?” Michael snarks. “And listen, if you’re going to lie properly, or at least bend the truth, you gotta bend a little more than just ‘I was gonna watch something tonight’.”

“So teach me.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to be more truthful and you’re trying to lie better.”

Ella laughs. “What a pair we make.”

Michael scoffs. “Come on, Lopez. You did say you were gonna show me the ‘good stuff’ if I was _up to it_.”

“Oh, so you _want_ me to rope you into this?”

Michael puts his hands up. “Hey, you made this bed,” he says. “I’m just a victim here.”

“Yeah?” Ella exclaims, jumping up and over to her DVD collection. “We’ll see, huh? We’ll see how long it takes before you’re a total _Trekkie_ too and you’re _begging_ for one more episode.”

——————

Damn him, Michael likes _Star Trek_. Not as much as he’d liked the music he’d listened to, but it was an enjoyable show. There was just so much of it. And then movies too! Michael isn’t sure how many episodes they watch, but by the time the DVD they’re working through ends, it’s almost midnight and Michael is struggling to keep his eyes open. Ella is sound asleep beside him, though leaned away from him this time.

Michael doesn’t want to just leave her there, but he can’t exactly carry her without waking her up. And he can’t sleep on the sofa without incredible pain in the morning. He turns off the TV and throws a blanket over Ella, making sure she’s comfortable, before retreating into his room. His turtleneck is thrown to the floor and he slips ungracefully into a plain t-shirt. He revels in the fact that he has clean clothes to wear now, even though none of them are actual pajamas. The slacks are comfortable enough, and now he has something to change into in the morning. 

Michael keeps his door cracked in case something happens to Ella out in the living room and lays down. He’s asleep almost immediately, emotional and physical strain of the day weighing down on him more than he’d realized. They’d actually had a good day.

And of course, it doesn’t last.

At first, Michael isn’t sure what wakes him. He lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling groggily, completely ready to fall back asleep, when he hears it—a whimper. He waits, a chill hits him, and he hears it again, louder this time. Now, he’s wide awake.

Michael makes his way into the living room. Ella is where he left her, but the blanket is on the floor and she’s writhing; the living room is freezing. Ella’s face is scrunched up in distress and she’s crying, Michael realizes. He stands over her, unsure what to do for a moment, before she sobs, sudden and loud and Michael—

Michael drops to his knees, ignoring the pain. “Lopez,” he says softly, nudging her shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey, Lopez, wake up.” Ella flinches and cries out, arms flailing wildly in an attempt to get away from whatever she’s seeing behind closed eyes. “Lopez!” Michael exclaims, catching her arms. “Ella!”

Ella’s eyes fly open and she screams, scrambling away. “No!” she cries. “No, no _please_!”

“It’s me!” Michael says. “It’s Michael—hey, hey, listen, Ella—” And maybe it’s because he’s tired, maybe it’s because they’d had such a good day and now it’s all gone to shit, but Michael makes a snap decision. And fuck, he doesn’t even know if this will work anymore; he hasn’t even tried it since just after Lucifer’s fall. He grabs Ella’s head with his good hand, making her look at him, and stares directly into her eyes. “Ella,” he says softly, “ _be not afraid._ ”

Ella stills. The tears stop. Her breathing evens out. And she stares. Michael’s heart jackrabbits in his chest. He feels like he can’t breathe, like no breath will be big enough to fill his lungs ever again. He’s going to die. His throat closes up and he knows he’s going to die. Distantly, he’s aware of letting go of Ella. His back hits the floor. He’s choking. And in a moment that feels like an eternity, the fear fades and he can breathe again.

Ella is staring at him from her place on the sofa. “Michael?” she whispers. She’s calm but confused.

Michael breathes, deep gulping breaths that actually hurt on the way in. Ella is suddenly next to him and the light is on. Sweat is rolling down his face, but the fear is gone. Fuck, the fear is gone, and all that’s left is exhaustion.

“You… you ok?” Michael asks.

“What did you do?” Ella asks instead of responding. She helps Michael to the couch and just keeps staring at him calmly. It’s unnerving, but at least the fear is gone.

“I-I took your fear,” Michael pants. “You were having a nightmare. Or a night terror, really. Couldn’t wake you up.”

Ella blinks at him. “Are you ok?”

Michael nods. “Haven’t done that in a while,” he says. “Wasn’t sure it would work, so I overdid it a bit, I think. How do you feel?” Ella just stares at him, expression blank other than the wide eyes. “Yeah, ok, really overdid it. Fuck.”

Michael sits and breathes for a few moments as the forced calmness dissipates from Ella’s expression. “Oh my _God_ ,” she says, and it startles a laugh out of Michael. “You ‘took’ my fear?”

“Think of it like a one-way mind-meld,” Michael says with a smirk, and Ella huffs. “Yeah, there you go. Sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Ella exclaims, Michael’s influence over her almost gone. “You just dove head first into the shitstorm of my mind and _you’re_ sorry?”

“You’re right,” Michael says sarcastically, “you’re welcome.”

Ella sighs. “Thank you,” she says. “Did—Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Michael lies easily, waving her off, “had to pee.”

Ella snorts and puts her head in her hands. “Shit,” she says.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “Well, I’m heading back to bed.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ella says as she follows him down the hallway. “I mean, going to bed. Not—not heading back, ‘cause I wasn’t even in bed, so—”

“Goodnight, Lopez,” Michael says, cutting her rambling off.

Ella smiles and opens her bedroom door. “Goodnight, Michael. See you in the morning.”

——————

Michael sleeps fitfully. He teeters in that space between sleeping and waking for hours, never quite knowing what’s real. His shoulder, arm, and side ache fiercely, and no amount of shifting in his sleep relieves it. He feels rather than dreams, fragments that don’t make sense but do all at the same time. He rolls, a stabbing pain rips up his spine. He rolls again, becomes more conscious than unconscious, finds himself face down and he—and he—oh fuck—and he—he’s face down—he—no, no, no, _no_ , _please_ —

Straps holding him down, digging into his skin, pressing him against hard steel. Screaming, someone is screaming. Pain through his back, through his outstretched wings, through his _soul_ , agonizing, the taste of metal in his mouth. His wings—he can’t move his wings—they’re strapped down beside him, just as tight as the rest of him. He can’t get his arms under him, he can’t get up, he can’t get away. A door opens—no, no, please—hand in his hair—“ _You don’t know how much good you’re doing here, Michael—_ ”

“—Michael!” Someone else is shouting, over the screaming, over the voice. Something touches him and he jerks, desperate to get away, but he’s strapped down _so tightly_. “Michael, please! Wake up!”

Something grabs him, grabs his shoulder, wraps around it, and pulls. With a gasp, Michael is flipped onto his back, awake all at once, and screams.

Michael is shaking violently, the bed near rocking from it. Someone, no, he realizes, _Ella_ , jumps up from where she’d fallen from the force of rolling him over, and onto the bed as he bolts upright. “Hey!” she whispers. “It’s ok, it’s ok, Michael. It’s me, Ella. You’re ok.”

There’s a low, pained keen and Michael realizes with a start that it’s coming from him. He blinks, looks down at himself, back up at Ella. She’s just kneeling there on the bed, hands hovering like she doesn’t know where to put them. “Ella?” Michael croaks, voice almost completely hoarse. Was the screaming him too?

“I’m here,” Ella says softly. “Can—can I touch you?”

Michael nods and Ella slowly takes his hand with both of hers. She moves one hand up his arm, up his shoulder, to cup the side of his face. She’s so warm, and it’s so fucking cold in here. He leans into her touch, another weak sound slipping from him, and Ella tuts.

“It’s ok,” she says, getting into his eye line. “You had a nightmare. You’re safe. It’s just you and me, here, ok? Michael?”

Michael nods, his eyes never leaving hers. He’s still shaking, he realizes. Dammit, he can’t stop shaking, and he looks away, ashamed. It’s cold; he’s so fucking cold.

Ella just stares for a moment, thinking. She says something else, but Michael can’t comprehend it. She moves slowly, like she’s afraid she’ll scare him if she moves too fast, and slips behind Michael’s back. He watches her, brain still muddled by fear and panic, as she maneuvers his pillows against the headboard and leans back against them. She might be still talking, but the words lose all meaning. Gently, so, _so gently_ , Ella nudges Michael’s shoulders until he allows her to lean him back against her chest; she leans over him to pull the covers over them both and when she’s satisfied, she gently brushes her fingers up and down Michael’s bad arm, her nails feather-light against his skin. Her other arm wraps loosely around him, her warm palm resting on his mangled shoulder. 

Ella whispers soothing sounds into Michael’s ear and slowly, the full-body shaking begins to die down. The exhaustion from before settles in, but tenfold, bearing down on his body and mind until he doesn’t feel real anymore. Ella starts singing softly, in some language Michael doesn’t know and can’t muster the energy to try to name. She’s so warm behind him, so gentle with him. She cups his cheek again and gently presses his face to lay against her collar. A sob chokes out from Michael’s throat and he’s only aware that he’s crying when Ella wipes his face with her hand. But he’s so tired. Too tired to care.

“It’s ok,” Ella says softly in his ear. He shivers and his eyes slide closed. “ _Estás seguro_ , Michael. It’s gonna be ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is Avalanche by Bring Me The Horizon.


	6. That’s The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ticked off a TON of ship tropes here lol I’m sick as hell, so I kept falling asleep and waking up with my phone in my hand. And somehow this chapter ended up being OVER 9000!!!!!!!!! words long. Oof. But I’m incredibly proud of this chapter.
> 
> A few obscure Easter eggs in here and a shitload of references. Don’t know if anyone is gonna get them lol
> 
> Feedback is always loved and appreciated! Enjoy!

Michael wasn’t aware it was possible to wake up even more exhausted than when he’d gone to sleep, but there he is, lying—no, sitting up? What?—in bed feeling like he’s actively wasting away. The night before slowly starts coming back in pieces: _Star Trek_ , Ella’s nightmare, his… well. His _thing_. Michael’s eyes are crusted over when he goes to open them, making him feel sticky and even more disgusting. He remembers the panic, the fear. Remembers being flipped over and talked to. Held so gently. And he’s so fucking ashamed.

Ella is gone, which doesn’t come as a surprise; he doesn’t blame her for taking off after that…display. Even if he doesn’t remember specifics, Michael remembers enough to know how fucked up he’d been. Screaming himself hoarse, crying like a child—Ella is here to recover, not get saddled with his shit. Michael wouldn’t be surprised if she’d fled back upstairs after last night.

So he’s fucking astonished when his bedroom door slowly opens and Ella creeps into the room with a mug and plate in her hands. “Hey,” she says softly when she sees he’s awake. “You can go back to sleep. I was just making coffee. Figured you might be hungry, too.”

Michael can only stare at her. She sits down on the side of the bed and sets the mug of coffee on the end table before offering him the plate. Toast, two pieces, already buttered. Michael just keeps staring.

He realizes suddenly that she’s been talking and finally blinks. “What?” he says.

Ella smiles softly. “I said, do you want some?” she asks again; Michael wordlessly takes the plate, but doesn’t start eating. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Great, B-R-B.”

Ella scurries back out of Michael’s bedroom and Michael sets the plate of toast down on his lap. His side and shoulder hurt—but nowhere near as bad as they normally did when he woke up on his back—his throat burns, his eyes feel heavy. Plus, Michael’s entire mind is in a fog. 

Ella comes back sometime later with a fresh mug of coffee. She presses it into his hands and he takes a sip almost robotically, startled when it doesn’t burn his tongue, and he looks down; Ella has put in a small ice cube to cool it down. He takes another longer swig, and it’s perfect. How Ella discovered how he took his coffee is anyone’s guess, but he’s thankful for it. 

Ella is deliberately not looking at him as he eats and drinks. She sips her own coffee beside him, and he can almost feel the tension in her, the curiosity, the need to ask what the fuck even happened last night.

“Ask me,” Michael says hoarsely. 

“Ask you what?” Ella says innocently.

“Don’t do that,” Michael snaps. “You’re not an idiot. We both know that.”

Ella sighs. She puts her coffee down and looks down at the empty plate of toast. “Didn’t think you’d want to talk about it,” she says.

“I don’t.” 

“So I don’t need to know.”

“But you _want_ to.”

“Well, yeah,” the ‘duh’ is implied. “But it’s not my place. Whatever happened last night…” Ella finally looks up at him. “Your privacy is more important than my curiosity.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t make him feel even more guilty about trying to ‘mojo’ her.

“But you want to know,” Michael repeats, and Ella rolls her eyes.

“But you don’t want to talk about it,” she says. “And not that I blame you. It sounded,” her eyes widen, “pretty bad. But, if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not gonna pry.” Ella suddenly bounces and points at him. “And actually, in fact, now I _don’t_ want to know, cuz if you start telling me it’ll just feel like you’re telling me because I want to know, so now I _don’t_ want to know!”

Michael blinks at her dumbly, his mind still trying to keep up. That was a lot of words for this early in the morning. Or maybe not, as he looks at his clock to find it already half past ten. So not that early. 

“Ok,” Michael says, and Ella takes another swig of her coffee.

“Good,” she says. “Though I do want to ask, and again, no details, ‘cause I don’t want to know! But… how much do you remember about last night?”

“I remember being on my stomach,” Michael recalls. “And then suddenly on my back.”

Ella nods. “Ok, got it. Yeah that was me. I didn’t know how to wake you up and you kept trying to push yourself up but couldn’t, so I figured rolling you over might help. I, um, I fell off the bed.”

Michael snorts, and a grin breaks out across Ella’s face. “Yeah, was wondering what that ‘thud’ was,” Michael says.

“Yeah, that was me. You’re welcome.”

Michael drains the rest of his coffee. “So what about you?” he asks. “You want to talk about your…?”

“Nope,” Ella says, popping the ‘p’. “You wanna go back to sleep or—?”

“No, no,” Michael groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I need a shower. Fuck, I feel disgusting.”

Ella nods and stands up. When and how had their roles reversed? Michael is supposed to be helping her, not the other way around.

Michael stands and stretches, his joints popping loudly. Ella makes a noise of disgust and rushes out of the room. Michael strips slowly, the aches and pains taking him over and making him shake for a moment, they do every morning, and heads into the bathroom. Now that he’s up and a little less fuzzy in the head, he can feel the sheet of dried sweat in his skin. Dad, last night was bad.

Michael fiddles with the knobs of the shower, reveling in how fast the water heats up. Of all of Lucifer’s luxuries, this is one Michael can admit to loving and appreciating, but it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure; almost every morning, Michael stands under the spray and… takes care of his horribly human _morning affliction_ in some way, but Dad, he really does not feel like handling it today. The steam collects condensation on his naked body, starting to loosen his muscles and relax _all_ of him. But Michael’s leg still aches fiercely, and when he reaches out to grab a towel off of the cabinet on the wall, it buckles under him. Luckily, he’s able to catch himself on the cabinet itself, which he ends up ripping off the fucking wall. 

The resulting crash is deafening. Michael leans against the wall, looking down at his mess, when the door slams open and Ella bursts into the bathroom.

“What happened? Are you ok?” she shouts; Michael automatically tries to cover his modesty with his hand as he spins on his heel, stunned into silence. “ _OH_ my gosh!” Ella immediately turns around as well and covers her face with both hands. “I’m so sorry! Holy shit, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

The goosebumps that break out across Michael’s skin at the rush of cold air from the open door are a stark contrast against the incredible full-body blush that flushes him. He swallows thickly. “ _Leave_ ,” he says, sounding as panicked as he feels. 

Ella runs from the room and slams the door. Somewhere across the city, Lucifer probably just started laughing and doesn’t know why. Michael is mortified. He just stands there, still cupping himself, before shuffling over to the door and quickly locking it. Holy shit, Ella just saw him naked—Michael looks down—and apparently his body found it highly amusing, because now _that_ problem is back! What the _fuck_ is his life becoming?

——————

Ella is fucking _horrified_. She can feel the heat of her blush like a fever against her hands as she rushes out into the living room. She’d thought he’d fallen! That has to count for something, right?

God help her, Ella has the desperate urge to go to Church _right now_. But, oh shit, that would be so weird! _Hey Big Guy, I’m so sorry I walked in on your Archangel son in his birthday suit! But it’s ok, I already saw Lucifer naked as a jay bird so I basically already know—_

Strike her down now. _Abuela_ would be horrified. And proud. Ella isn’t sure which is more embarrassing. 

Ella throws herself into the couch and smushes a throw pillow over her head. As she debates how best to discretely smother herself before having to face Michael again, her phone rings on the breakfast bar. She lets it ring; they’ll leave a message if it’s important.

Michael eventually wanders out into the living room, dressed in a turtleneck and slacks they’d washed yesterday. Ella peaks out from under her pillow cave.

“There’s no way we can just... never talk about that again, is there?” she asks.

“No, I am absolutely down for that,” Michael replies. “Lips are sealed. Who are you?”

Ella’s phone rings again and she groans. Michael deposits his mug and plate into the sink as she sits at the breakfast bar. The caller ID flashes; it’s the precinct.

Ella and Michael look at each other in confusion before Ella answers the phone. “Ella Lopez,” she says cheerfully, and Michael makes an effort not to eavesdrop. For a moment. “Yes, sir.” There’s a pause. A long pause. Ella’s expression falls and the room grows cold. “I-I see. Thank you, um, sir. For the—for the heads up.”

Ella hangs up, staring blankly down at the breakfast bar. “What’s up?” Michael asks.

Ella swallows. “The, um, the trial—” she takes a deep breath. “Pete’s trial date was just set. I need to testify.”

“Oh.”

Ella blinks, resting both hands against the marble countertop to settle herself. It seems she’s more in shock than scared. “I didn’t even think about—I-I forgot that…”

Michael covers one of Ella’s hands with his own. It’s like ice. “Lopez,” he says, “look at me.” Michael smiles reassuringly when she does. “It’s ok. You know there’s no way he’s getting off.”

Ella turns her hand in Michael’s and holds it tight. “I know,” she says quietly. “I-I just… didn’t think I’d ever have to see him again.”

Michael squeezes her hand. “Well you’re not gonna do it alone,” he says. “My brother and Chloe and Dan, they’re all gonna be there with you.”

“And you?” Ella says, so hopeful, and Michael’s chest feels tight.

“If you want,” he says.

Ella sniffs, looking down at their joined hands. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah I-I think I’d like that.”

They lapse back into silence, but it’s incredibly uncomfortable. Despite the exhaustion Michael feels, he knows he needs to fix this. _Wants_ to fix this, even. Ella had been so gentle with him the night before. How could he leave her like this for any longer than he already had?

He gets an idea, thinking about yesterday in general, and fuck him, he’s really going to do this. “Come here,” Michael says, tugging Ella’s hand. He leads her into the living room and pushes her down onto the couch. “I promised you I’d show you my wings today.”

Ella’s eyes are wide. “You don’t have to,” she says, but Michael can tell his distraction is already working.

“I know that,” he says. “To be honest, I need to spread them anyway or else they get itchy.” Fucking liar.

Michael truly doesn’t know what will happen when he tries to spread his wings. For Ella’s sake, he hopes nothing bad, but it would be Michael’s luck for his distraction to backfire on him. Ever since Dad zapped his divinity, Michael’s wings have felt heavy, even though they’ve been tucked away. They used to hurt to unfurl even before he’d been grounded, so he can only imagine how they’re going to feel now. But Ella needs this distraction. 

Michael pushes the coffee table further away from the couch and sits down, back facing Ella. If nothing else, Michael refuses to let her catch him if he falls. He’s still not entirely sure that this is a good idea. In fact, now that he’s sitting in front of her, thinking about what he’s about to do, his heart starts racing. Yeah, this is a terrible idea. His wings are ruined, ragged and ugly. Even his siblings in the Silver City always had a tough time looking at them. Ella had said she didn’t want anything pretty, but she didn’t know how fucked up he truly was. Lucifer’s wings were the picture of beauty and divinity; any other angel’s wings would pale in comparison. _That’s_ what Ella expected. But Michael’s wings made roadkill look gorgeous.

“Michael?” Ella says, breaking Michael out of his thoughts. “I mean it, you don’t need to show me.”

Michael is not a coward. He refuses to be. So he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and spreads his wings. It feels like the right one is physically torn from him, like someone took a hold of the bone itself and _pulled_. It unfurls just a second slower than his left, just a second slow enough for it to be noticeable. A stab of pain shoots down his spine, his shoulder jutting up harshly to smash into his ear, and Michael has to grip the edge of the coffee table with all his strength to keep from crying out. A pitiful whine escapes him against his will, and he lets his head hang in shame. They hurt. Dad help him, they hurt. But they’re out. 

Michael hears Ella gasp softly behind him. He knows what she sees. The left wing isn’t perfect, but it’s whole. The right is wrecked. The radius Lucifer broke never healed right, leaving a crooked angle in the expanse of his wing like a puzzle piece forced where it doesn’t belong. The feathers are spread awkwardly, entire gaps between clusters of primary and secondary feathers like they’ve been purposely sectioned off. And those feathers themselves are a mess, the barbs ruffled backwards and sideways like they’ve never been smoothed a day in Michael’s life. And the scar—

Michael startles, a new pain striking down his spine at the abrupt movement, as Ella’s hand brushes the feathers of his humerus. He knew Ella was curious, but he never imagined she’d want to _touch_ him. Ella pulls back immediately. “I’m sorry,” she says in a rush. “I-I shouldn’t have touched, I’m sorry.”

Michael breathes through his teeth, letting the pain fade into a dull ache before speaking. “It’s—ok,” he says haltingly. But was it ok? He doesn’t even know. No one had touched his wings in—well, no one touched his wings _like that_ in...

Ella doesn’t touch him again. But Michael can feel her gaze on him. “They’re beautiful,” she says, and Michael scoffs harshly.

“Don’t,” he growls, curling in on himself.

“They are!” Ella insists.

“How?” Michael snaps. “They’re fucked! Just look!”

“I _am_ looking!”

“Well then you’re fucking _blind_!” Michael shouts, slamming his fist down onto the coffee table. His wings shake, and a feather falls from the wreckage they’ve become. Watching it flutter to the ground, the fight leaves him as quickly as it had come.

Ella is quiet for a moment before she gets up and kneels in front of Michael. “Hey,” she says, resting one hand on his knee and the other on his bad hand. “They’re—yeah. They’re not pretty. But they’re still beautiful.”

Michael scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Ella admits. “Do they hurt?”

Michael glances at his wrecked wing. “Coming out,” he says. “Using them. Flying.”

“Just sitting here?”

Michael sits there a moment, cataloguing his aches and pains. The bones themselves hurt when it rains, but right now, there’s only mild discomfort. “No,” he says. Not an entire lie.

Ella nods, watching his feathers shift with his breath. “What… what about the…” Ella gestures to her own back, and Michael’s blood goes cold.

“The—” Fuck. Of course. Normally, in the Silver City, Michael has enough layers on with his robes to hide where his wings meet his back, but sitting here, in only a cheap turtleneck, of course Ella noticed the _fucking scar_. 

Michael stands abruptly, almost knocking Ella backwards. He can’t breathe. “No, no, no,” Ella says, throwing her hands up like she’s trying to calm a wild animal. “It’s ok! It’s ok! I’m sorry!”

Michael stands there, staring down at her, trying to catch his breath. Slowly, Ella takes his hand in hers and brushes her thumb over his knuckles. Michael slowly sits. His wings droop.

The silence stretches, and Michael can’t stand it. “Sometimes,” he admits, and Ella quirks a brow in confusion. “You asked… if it hurts. Yeah, sometimes.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Michael gives a little hum of acknowledgement, looking down at their joined hands. Her skin is so warm now, and he’s so fucking cold again. Ella chews her lip. She tries not to look at his wing, for his sake, bless her, but she’s struggling. 

“You can—” Michael swallows hard. “You can touch them. If you want.”

“That’s ok, I don’t need—”

“Just _do it_ , ok?” Michael snaps, frustrated at himself, and her, and the situation. 

Ella gives a weak smile and stands. Slowly, telegraphing her movements, Ella presses her hand into Michael’s feathers. He shivers, eyes sliding closed as she brushes her hand through them. Michael hangs his head again; she’s so warm, so gentle. She touches him like she’s afraid he’ll shatter under her palm. And Michael feels like he just might. 

“They’re so soft,” Ella says. Michael’s wing twitches and her hand flinches back for a moment before continuing to explore. She starts circling him, standing at his back again, hands eventually coming to rest just above his broken radius. Slowly, so, so slowly, her fingers glide down his wing until he can feel her coming close to the scar. He twitches, involuntary, and her hand stills.

“Can I ask… what happened?” Ella asks quietly.

It’s been a while since he’s personally laid eyes on the ruined skin, but he knows it looks even more painful than his wrecked wing or crooked stance. With his wings away, his back is completely unblemished. Small mercies. But on display like this, the scar stands out as starkly as the one on his face. It’s not terribly long, but it’s gnarled and puckered, looking more like a leathery sinkhole folded in on itself than skin. Sandalphon’s spear entered Michael’s back exactly at the joint, so that every movement he makes grinds his bones against each other and pulls at his spine. And his spine itself, according Raphael, has a sizable shard of the bone missing from where the blade nicked him, which contributes to his leg pain as well. 

“My brother,” Michael says. “S—” Michael swallows the bile rising in his throat. “Sandalphon.”

Ella sniffs. Is she crying? “I’m so sorry,” she says again. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Michael’s chest tightens and a dry sob chokes out of him. It’s possible that no one has _ever_ said that to him before, true or not, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Ella’s hands leave his wings and settle on his bad shoulder. He flinches—she’s so warm—but relaxes again quickly when she applies a little pressure.

“Does this hurt?” she asks, and he shakes his head. Her thumb presses into his skin, massaging the muscle there gently. Michael’s breath comes out all at once. It feels foreign but… not bad. She slowly massages the right side of his back, across his shoulder and down his spine, and he twitches when her thumb dips into the hole in his shoulder blade where Sandalphon’s blade finally came to rest. Ah, he’d forgotten about that. Another reason his right side is so weak. Ella gasps softly in surprise, but mercifully, her hands move on. 

Ella moves her hands back up to Michael’s neck and massages the tension there. Her left hand settles on Michael’s good shoulder and she starts massaging that, too. Michael is putty in her grasp. He shifts with the pressure of her hands, just slightly swaying as she presses and moves, and then all too soon, her hands still against his spine.

Michael doesn’t know what to say. The pain is—the pain is dulled, impossibly, and he feels lighter than he has in years.

“Lopez,” he says softly, and Ella circles him again to stand in front of him.

“Was that ok?” she asks.

Michael nods up at her, eyes half-lidded. “It was amazing,” he says, completely honest. He’s not exactly warm, but he’s no longer cold. He feels—relaxed, truly relaxed, and it almost feels wrong somehow.

Ella smiles and wipes her eyes. “Good,” she says. “Like I thought, you were knotted up like crazy. Let me know if you want me to do that again, ok? I mean it, anytime.”

Michael blinks up at her. “Why?”

“Because you need it,” Ella shrugs. “You shouldn’t have to live in pain. Especially when something can be done about it. Plus, you showed me your wings. And you didn’t have to, no matter what you say.” She smiles at the ruined feathers. “And you can put them away, if you want. I know this isn’t comfortable for you.”

Michael nods and shrugs his shoulders, wings disappearing with a grunt as a few more feathers fall. Thankfully, they don’t hurt nearly as much going in as they did coming out. Michael stares into Ella’s eyes, completely open and unjudging. Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of him, but Michael finds himself unable to care. 

And it’s the God’s honest truth.

——————

Ella disappears into her room to shower, and Michael ends up dozing on the couch. How does this keep happening to him? But he wakes up as he hears Ella’s hairdryer going off and stretches as best he can. Ella comes out of her room in one of her graphic t-shirts—green with a picture of a llama with the words _¿Cómo se Llama?_ written in white above it—and Michael finds himself proud that she’s moving forward with her wardrobe if nothing else. 

“What do you think?” Ella asks, gesturing to the shirt.

“I imagine it’s funny if you know what it says,” Michael replies.

“It says ‘What’s your name’,” Ella translates. “But y’know, _llama_ , llama? Funny, right?”

Michael chuckles. “Yup.”

“I’d have thought you knew Spanish,” Ella says, “given, y’know, Heaven, immortal, all that jazz. Lucifer speaks every language.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Language is different in the Silver City and Hell,” he explains. “In the Silver City, there’s no such thing as language. You just speak and everyone understands it.”

“Like before the Tower of Babel?”

Michael quirks a brow, amused; _he_ remembers the chaos Earth had been but is sometimes still surprised how much humans know. Even if a lot of it is inaccurate. “Kind of, actually, yeah,” he says. “But in Hell, language can be used against you.”

Ella seems to think about it for a moment and nods. “Makes sense,” she says, but she doesn’t look happy about it. But that’s Hell, after all. Ella’s eyes suddenly go wide. “Is that why some people can talk to ghosts in their own language in other countries and stuff?!”

Michael blinks. What? “Lopez, ghosts aren’t real,” he says.

“What?” Ella looks like Michael just slapped her. “They’re… they’re not?”

“No,” Michael replies. “Why?”

Ella looks away for a moment before pulling out her phone. “Hey, so, question for you.”

“Lopez.”

“Michael.”

She and Michael stare each other down before Michael sighs and waves his hand. “What?” he asks.

“I know last night was… rough,” Ella begins gently, “but were you still up for getting new clothes?”

Michael had actually forgotten about that, but—“Sure,” he says. “Just—” he guestures to her shirt, “I’m picking them out.”

“Well, duh” Ella says with a roll of her eyes and a sway of her hips. “Not everybody can pull off _estilo_ like this.”

——————

Michael would be lying if he said he knew anything about fashion, especially in the twenty-first century, and although he lies like it’s his drug, he can’t lie about this. So he lets Ella take the lead.

“Ok, so no thrift stores,” Ella says, giving him an amused smirk. “Kinda want another coffee. Where do you wanna go?”

“Wherever is fine,” Michael says.

“Where’d you get coffee before?”

“Other than that seven dollar coffee I got Chloe? The break room,” Michael replies, and laughs at Ella’s scrunched up face of disgust.

“You _drank_ that?” she exclaims.

“It was free.”

“Oh my gosh, eugh, no. We’re introducing you to real coffee.”

Michael scoffs. “Whatever you say.”

Ella bites her thumbnail, thinking for a moment. “We can go to a bunch of different places, see which ones you like. We can start small. How ‘bout Dunkin’ or something?”

“I swear I’m gonna need a translator for you.”

Ella laughs. “No, Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s a coffee place. Or, a donut place, technically. Breakfast place? Anyway, it’s better than break room coffee, that’s for damn sure.”

“Whatever you say, Lopez.”

Ella backs out of the driveway and Michael takes her phone to put on music. Ella beams, keeping her eyes on the road but clearly amused with Michael’s newfound love of music. 

Michael doesn’t mind the traffic they run into, because it means they get to listen to more songs, but before long they pull up beside a brown building with orange and pink accents. It looks hideous. And Michael’s disgust must show on his face, because Ella laughs.

“Trust me, I know,” she says as she pulls into the drive-through, “but it grows on you.” 

The car in front of them takes it’s sweet time, so Michael has a chance to look at the menu.

“Five bucks?” Michael exclaims, practically leaning over Ella to see better. “For a small?!”

“Relax,” Ella says. “This is cheap compared to other places! Plus I’m, um, I’m using the card Lucifer gave me.”

Michael sits back in his seat. “Oh,” he says. “Get me a large.”

Ella busts out laughing just as they get to the speaker. She collects herself enough to rattle off her order and then Michael orders his. Ella asks for extra sugar and creamer and a small cup of ice before they pull into a parking space.

“Dunkin’s great,” she explains, “but everybody seems to make coffee differently.”

Ella and Michael doctor their coffee, Ella plopping a few ice cubes into hers to cool it off a bit. Michael takes one as well, explaining to Ella how he’d learned the hard way earlier in the week that his lack of divinity made his fucking tongue weaker too.

Ella turns beet red and sputters, spitting all over her steering wheel in an attempt to keep from laughing. 

“Grow up,” Michael says with a roll of his eyes. “What are you, my brother?”

Ella snorts into her coffee. “If I was your brother,” she says, then says in the worst imitation of Lucifer’s accent Michael has ever heard, “Oi’d ‘ave said somethin’ out loud.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Michael laughs, and promptly spills some of his coffee into his lap.

“Karma!” Ella exclaims. “That’s karma, _pendejo_!”

“Will you just drive?” Michael snaps, but he’s smiling. The ice cooled his coffee down enough that it didn’t burn him, but now he has a dark spot dangerously close to his crotch.

Ella laughs all the way to Walmart. “Figured you wouldn’t want some fancy boutique stuff,” she says, and Michael is grateful. Plus, despite now knowing they’re using Lucifer’s money for all of this, Michael had seen some of the clothes here when he’d gotten ‘supplies’ for Ella the other day and they looked comfortable.

“ _Vamonos_!” Ella exclaims, hopping out of the car. Michael again let’s her take the lead, following behind her as she grabs a cart and heads straight for what passes as the men’s department. Ella takes her phone out and bites her lip as she scrolls through. “Ok—so—I came up with a little list of stuff you might need this morning while you were still sleeping, but do you have anything you wanna get first?”

“Probably something to sleep in,” Michael says with a shrug. “The slacks are ok, but…” Ella nods and steers the cart down an isle lined with plastic bags of underwear and undershirts. Down the far end, Michael can see hangers and hangers of plaid pants.

“Any chance you know your size?” Ella asks. At Michael’s blank look, she beckons him to bend over and sticks her hand down the back of his shirt. Before he can protest, she has his tag between two fingers and has already let go. “Ok, that’s what I thought. And you like loose stuff, right?”

Michael pointedly ignores the goosebumps breaking out across his neck and shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, scratching his neck. “Could be looser.”

Ella starts looking through the undershirt bags and pulls out two bags labeled one size bigger than what he’s wearing now. She tosses them into the cart and then hesitates. “Do you—” she starts, but then blushes and looks away. She clears her throat and whispers, “Do you wear… any of this?”

Michael blushes just as hard. He might not care about messes and fashion, but he’d drawn the line at used underwear at GoodWill. And no way in Hell he would wear any of Lucifer’s; as it was, he was amazed his brother had any at all, so what he did have probably wasn’t used for just… wearing. And Michael didn’t even know what he _meant_ by that.

“Yes,” Michael whispers back. He clears his throat as well and just grabs two bags of underwear in his size.

“Oh thank God,” Ella says, and then sputters. “I-I mean—I’m—”

“No, no,” Michael says. “Me too.”

Ella laughs and they move on. The plaid pants Michael had seen are soft; Ella puts one of two different sizes in the cart for him to try on later. From there they get new socks, just some ‘boring’ black and white as Ella complains, and then the real shopping begins.

Michael picks out a few sweaters and long sleeve shirts that Ella calls Henleys. One sweater is midnight blue and looks like it’s covered in white lint, and Michael can’t help but smile deviously at the disgusted look Ella gives it. She spends a good five minutes trying to pick the white bits off before realizing that’s just how the sweater was designed and gives up.

As Michael picks out pants and the occasional short-sleeve shirt, Ella starts looking through the graphic t-shirts. “Absolutely not,” Michael says when Ella drops one into the cart. 

“Who says it’s for you?” Ella asks, crossing her arms. “You think you’re the expert on fashion, why don’t you pick one out for me?”

“Sure.”

“And I’ll pick something for you.”

“Fine by me, Lopez. _One_ thing.”

(Later, Michael will regret his words. Dear Dad, will he regret them.)

Michael takes a look at the rows of colorful t-shirts and reads over the text and pictures while Ella disappears somewhere. He finds a navy blue shirt with a simplified image of Spock on it, with the words _Unemotionally Available_ , and Michael just manages to stifle a laugh. 

“Lopez!” he calls, and Ella bounds back over.

“Oh my gosh!” Ella exclaims. “How did I miss this?” She holds it up to her body and admittedly, it came from the men’s section, so it looks big and shapeless even in her size. “I love it!”

“See?” Michael sneers. “Much better.”

Ella leads Michael over to the most pathetic looking changing room. The sign says ‘6 Items At A Time’ but no one is there to monitor them. Ella hands him most of the clothes he’d picked out. “Go try these on,” she says.

In the changing room, Michael narrows down his size, immediately vetoing some of the shirts for being too tight or not comfortable enough. When he gets to the last piece of clothing, he sputters.

“Lopez!” he exclaims.

“Ye~es?” Ella croons outside the door.

Michael holds up the—he reads the tag—onesie like it’s literally offended him. It’s the same navy blue of the t-shirt he’d picked out for Ella, but with brown shoulders, a brown hood and a white triangle pattern across the chest. The zipper and pockets are lined in white, and the inside is that same navy blue.

“What the _fuck_ is this?”

Michael can hear Ella trying not to laugh, and failing. “I’m guessing you found what I picked out?”

“What the fuck _is_ this?” 

Ella snorts. “Just try it on!” she says. “I’m getting myself one too. They look so comfy.”

Michael _does not_ try it on. But it’s in his size, and he wants to make Ella happy, so he just sits in the changing room for a minute, listening as Ella slips into the stall room next door. He changes back into his old clothes and emerges from the changing room just as Ella does, and—oh, oh Dad—she’s wearing her own onesie.

“Dear Dad in Heaven, Lopez,” Michael says.

Ella pulls the hood up over her head. “Ta-da!” she exclaims, waving her hands. “What do you think?”

Michael takes the zipper between his fingers and zips it all the way up the hood, effectively trapping Ella inside. She squeaks and flails as she pulls the zipper back down, and Michael can’t help but grin. 

“I’m pretty sure Amenadiel has one of these things for Chucky,” he says.

“Chucky?”

“The baby.”

“Oh! _Charlie_!” Ella says slowly. “Yeah, babies wear them but they’re soooo comfy! You can sleep in then or just hang out in them. I have a couple at home but this one is so cute. Did yours fit?”

“Yeah,” Michael lies. 

Ella narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but doesn’t call him out. She pulls out her phone and goes down the list she’d made of things Michael might need. “You opposed to slippers?” she asks.

“Why would I wear slippers if I have socks?”

Ella nods and keeps doing down her list. “We should check out the shoes, though.”

“Whatever you say.”

They end up spending a disgusting amount of money on shit for Michael, but Ella does get some new things other than the t-shirt and onesie as well. Michael balks at the total price, but the black card Ella whips out calms him.

Ella starts digging through the bags before they leave. “Here, why don’t you put one of these on?” she suggests. 

“Why?” Michael asks. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Ella points out to the coffee stain near his crotch and Michael blushes. “Fucking Hell.”

Michael takes his bags into the bathroom and changes into a simple black sweater and gray pants. When he rejoins Ella, she rips the tags off and throws them away along with their long-empty coffees.

“What do you wanna do now?” Ella asks when they load their bounties into the car.

“Whatever,” Michael replies. He runs his fingers over the fabric of his new shirt absentmindedly and Ella smiles. 

“W-well,” she starts, “um. So…” Michael quirks a brow at her. “Belinda texted me while you were in the bathroom,” Ella says in a rush. “She was telling me how Margaret is doing and how she’s fitting in really well and I just—I was wondering if maybe we could go visit? I mean, I can drop you back off at the house, you don’t need to come with me. ‘Cause I know it’s a farm and like, we’ve been out for a while and—”

“Breathe, Lopez,” Michael cuts in. “Just drive.”

“You sure?”

“Not if you keep asking me.”

Ella hits his arm playfully. “Jerk,” she laughs. She plugs in the address to Belinda’s farm into her phone and they take off.

——————

Belinda’s farm, Roundup Rescue, is actually smaller than Michael had expected, but it’s surprisingly clean. A flier in the office advertises another location with larger barn animals about a mile away; this farm, specifically, is apparently for smaller animals, or ‘The Littles’ as they’re called here.

Belinda greets them and she and Ella hug like they’re old friends. She leads them to a red barn straight out of a children’s picture book where the sounds of various animals can be heard before they even open the doors.

A black pot-bellied pig greats them, snorting softly as it waddles past them. Two small goats are jumping on a tractor in the corner, the mother watching from a pile of hay nearby. Belinda leads them into one of the stalls, which opens up into a large fenced-in area—the paddock, Belinda corrects—and Michael can hear the chickens before he sees them.

The chicken coop is easily the size of the pool at the house. Half of it is covered by wire and has a wooden ceiling, although there is a large patch of open space. Attached is a wooden building the size of a shed, with a hole in the front for chickens to come and go from.

Belinda leads Ella into the chicken yard, but Michael just leans against the fence. He watches as Ella immediately hones in on Margaret, even though there are five or six other chickens that look exactly like her.

“She’s been doing so great,” Belinda says. “She’s a bit of a diva, though.”

“Oh yeah,” Ella laughs as she picks her chicken up. “Hi baby!” she coos as she buries her face into the chicken’s feathers. “Oh, Mommy’s missed you! Yes she has!”

Margaret pecks Ella in the face, and Michael snorts loudly. “Seems like she missed you too,” he says sarcastically.

Just then, someone screams from the barn. Belinda takes off running inside, but runs back out a minute later, blasting cold. 

“No, no, no, no,” she repeats, but there’s more disgust in her tone than fear. 

Michael heads into the barn and finds a girl who must work here on top of a hay bale, eyes wide and terrified as she looks down onto the floor.

“I thought it was twine!” she wails, pointing. Michael looks down, confused. All he sees is twine, too, until it moves. A snake.

“Oh,” he says, and smiles. He bends down as best he can and scoops up the little creature. The girl bolts from the barn like she’s afraid it will explode. The snake scrambles in Michael’s grasp for a moment. “Sorry, I’m not that warm,” he says, and the snake eventually settles, winding its way through his fingers.

A gasp from behind him startles him. “Oh em gee,” Ella says from over his shoulder. “Is that a snake?”

“No, it’s a toucan,” Michael says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Lopez, it’s a snake. Gopher snake, I think.”

The snake is calm now, and flicks its tongue lazily as Michael holds it. It’s a dull orange color, the scales running down it patterned almost like the texture of rope, so it’s no wonder why the farmhand thought it was twine. 

A blast of cold hits Michael as Belinda creeps into the barn. “Ew! And you’re _touching_ it?!”

“You work on a farm and a snake is disgusting?” Michael says. 

Ella inches closer. “Is it—is it wild?”

“Think so,” Michael replies, watching the snake wind itself around his wrist. Belinda shudders and hurries off.

Ella stands nearby, not getting too close, but clearly curious. “It’s not venomous, is it?”

“Nope.”

“I can’t believe you caught it.”

Michael shrugs. “I wouldn’t recommend just picking up a wild snake,” he says, “but this little one can’t stay here, clearly.”

Ella states. “Can I—can I hold it?”

Michael looks up at her. She looks nervous, but she’s not giving off any cold-fear. At least not like Belinda and that other girl were. “It’s still a wild animal,” Michael says.

“Well I _know_ that,” Ella replies. “I’ve never held a snake before.”

Michael scoots over and nods his head towards the spot next to him. Ella takes a seat and Michael holds out his hand. When Ella does the same, Michael presses the sides of their hands together and the snake slithers from Michael’s fingers to hers. Ella gasps softly, but stays still. The snake immediately coils around her wrist, tight but not uncomfortably so, and settles.

“You’re warmer than me,” Michael says.

“Wow,” Ella whispers. She brings her other hand up hesitantly, and runs a finger over the snake’s scales. “It doesn’t feel anything like I thought it would.”

Michael smiles and nods. “You know, snakes were my idea,” he says. “Lucifer didn’t see the point, which just made me want them more. He thought they were just legless lizards, which I ended up making anyway just to piss him off. How he ended up getting saddled with the snake iconography, I’ll never know, nor will I ever get over. He doesn’t even _like_ them.”

Michael looks up, and Ella is watching him in absolute fascination. “You—made snakes?” she says.

“Kind of,” Michael starts. “Lucifer and I… we’re the Demiurge. Dad brought us into being and gave us the power to create. Like… we’re the brushes and he gave us the paint. Or… something.” Michael grimaces; what was he saying?

“That’s so _fucking cool_ ,” Ella says, and Michael laughs. At least it makes sense to her. “So the… Demiurge?”

“Demiurge, Demiurgos,” Michael says, “whichever. I shape something, and Lucifer wills it into being. Or… we did. Long time ago.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, it’s like, as if I would draw something on a piece of paper, and Lucifer would sculpt it. And then Dad would breathe life into it.”

“What about like, trees and stuff?”

“Didn’t need dad for that. Trees and plants are technically living beings, but they don’t have the complexity of sentient life.”

Ella shakes her head, eyes wide. “Holy shit, that’s awesome. So snakes were your thing.”

“Yup,” Michael says proudly. “But everyone calls Lucifer the serpent and we both hate it. Your Bible gets a few things right, but it botches so much of it.”

“So the snake in the Garden of Eden…”

“Was me. Technically.”

Ella gasps. “ _You_ tempted Eve?!”

“No!” Michael exclaims, looking disgusted. “Absolutely not. That was still Lucifer. We were only there to release some of what we’d made into the Garden. _Lucifer_ got distracted, like he always does. Eve saw me releasing a snake and thought I was him, because of course she did, and naturally _that’s_ what made it into that damn book.”

“Oh my gosh,” Ella says. “I’m sorry—that’s really funny.”

Michael gives her a fake glare. “Gee, thanks.”

Ella watches the snake slither gently through her fingers. “I knew Lucifer didn’t like snakes,” she says. “He tried to put one in Dan’s desk as a prank when everything was going down and I heard he looked like he was gonna shit his pants handling it.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “King of Hell, scared of a snake,” he says.

“Not scared,” Ella defends, “just nervous I think. Chloe was there. I think he just didn’t want to get bit.”

“Snakes don’t bite unless they’re threatened or eating. But I would pay to see that.”

Ella scoffs. “Anyway, what are we gonna do with this little guy?” she says as she holds the snake up. 

“Shouldn’t let it stay here,” Michael says. 

“Yeah,” Ella cooes, “don’t want our little danger noodle getting hurt, do we?”

Michael opens his mouth, but stops. “The fuck did you just call it?”

“Danger noodle!” Ella says, smiling. “It’s—an Internet thing. Like, danger noodle, trash panda…”

“Do I even want to know?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Boy, one of these days we’re gonna sit down and properly educate you.”

“Whatever you say, Lopez.”

Ella hands Michael the snake and goes off in search of Belinda. She comes back with a small cardboard box and Michael gently lowers the reptile I n. While he minds the snake, Ella spends a little more time with Margaret and explores the farm. A while later, Ella meets Michael back at the office and bids Belinda goodbye.

As Ella gets the car running, she says, “I miss my baby.”

“At least you know she’s ok,” Michael says.

Ella drives the two of them further out into the farmland until they reach a small forest. Michael opens the little box and lets the gopher snake slither off into the wilderness.

“I feel really good,” Ella says when he climbs back in. “We did good today.” And although Michael doesn’t get how elated she is about just moving a snake from point A to point B, he smiles and nods.

“Don’t know about you,” he says as they drive, “but I’m starving. And Lucifer’s buying, apparently. How’d that come about, anyway?”

Ella blushes. “He threatened me,” she says.

“ _What_?!”

“Oh shush. He just said either I take the card and use it while we’re at his place or he’d use it to buy me a new place altogether.”

Michael blinks. “And you said _no_?”

“Of course!” Ella looks at Michael incredulously. “I’m not letting him buy me a house!”

“Why not? He offered.”

“Because I can’t just… take his money like that. And I know I have his card, but I’ve been keeping all the receipts so I can pay him back someday.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not!”

“Lopez, my brother probably has more money than anyone on the planet. Why would you not take advantage of that?”

“Because it’s wrong,” Ella says, with a sudden seriousness that wasn’t there before. “And like you said, it’s taking advantage. I don’t want to do that. Lucifer… does a lot for his friends, but sometimes it almost feels like… he does it so we won’t leave him. And you don’t do that with friends.”

Michael’s mind reels. _Lucifer_ , woman or man on his arm every night Lucifer, being that desperate as to buy his friends’ affection? “I don’t understand.”

Ella is quiet for a while, the hum of music the only sound as she collects her thoughts. Michael recognizes the various looks that cross her face; she’s trying to come up with an example he can relate to, but obviously she’s having a hard time. And that says a lot, too.

“Your… Dad,” Ella says tentatively, “you love Him, right?”

“Of course. He’s my Father.”

Ella nods. “And He loves you.” A statement, not a question, but Michael let’s her have it. “Would you not love your Dad unless he gave you money and gifts and shit?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, Lucifer feels like he has to.”

“Right, but I don’t get _why_.”

Ella throws her hands up. “Well, I mean…!” She flounders for words. “You know I love the Big Guy, it’s like one of my character traits, but He and Lucifer have a really shitty relationship. Lucifer rebelled, and ok, it fucked everything up, but his entire family turned on him. Even _if_ he deserved it—” she puts a finger up when Michael opens his mouth to interrupt, “— _if_. Work with me here. You’re not supposed to do that with family. Sure, punish him, give him a good time out or whatever, but for the _whole family_ to suddenly _hate_ him? The family that’s supposed to love you _unconditionally_ no matter what? I mean, come on! Your Dad made you, had the two of you make basically everything, and then banished him for acting out.”

Michael doesn’t mention all that went into that banishment, but… He looks down at his lap. Oh. “Lucifer… doesn’t believe anyone could care without wanting something,” he says slowly.

Ella doesn’t look at him. “Can you blame him?”

Michael gazes out the window. He truly doesn’t know what to say. Michael had felt like Lucifer had betrayed him, using his own weaknesses against him, but the thought that Lucifer felt betrayed had never crossed his mind. To Michael, it had been what he deserved, because his Father said so.

They drive in silence until they get relatively back into town. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say something negative about my Dad,” Michael says at last when they cruise into a red light.

Ella scoffs, but she’s smiling softly. “Yeah, well,” she shrugs, “I’ve always had my own interpretations of things. It was all way simpler when you were all in the clouds.”

“Technically we’ve never been in the clouds. Clouds are water vapor.”

“Michael, I’m a scientist. I know that.” She waves her hands in front of her face. “Metaphor.”

——————

They stop at a local burger place, nearly bursting with customers, but Michael and Ella get a seat almost immediately. Apparently Lucifer knew the owner and therefore knew Ella by face alone. The food is covered in grease, but damn is it good.

Ella gets ketchup and mustard all over her face every time she takes a bite. It’s disgusting and adorable, Michael has to admit. They share a large bin of fries that Ella calls wedges and she makes him try all the different dipping sauces they have available. Knowing they’re spending Lucifer’s money, Michael orders burger after burger, until Ella starts looking a little green watching him eat. As Michael eats and eats, the crowd dies down and tables are no longer in high demand.

Ella leans back in her seat. “If I’d known this is how you eat, we’d have gotten more than just a sandwich yesterday. _Dios bueno_.”

Michael smirks at her around another bite of food. “You can leave,” he says teasingly. 

“And let you walk home?”

“Point.”

Ella laughs. “Let’s play a game,” she says, “since you don’t look anywhere near done.”

Michael wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Ok, shoot.”

Ella’s face splits out into a shit-eating grin. “Two truths and a lie.”

Michael stares at her for a moment before he busts out laughing. “You’re joking, right? _You’re_ going to try to lie to _me_?”

Ella leans forward. “Scared you’ll lose?”

“Scared you’ll embarrass yourself, more like,” Michael replies. “You first.”

Ella thinks as Michael eats. “Ok, ok,” she starts. “I totally had a _Twilight_ faze, I’m allergic to shellfish, and I once had a turtle named Bob.”

Michael doesn’t even hesitate. “Shellfish. Your eyes get juuuust a bit wider when you lie.”

“What?” Ella exclaims, slapping her hands to her cheeks. “No way! I do?” At Michael’s smug grin, she scoffs. “Ok wise guy, your turn.”

Michael thinks for a moment. “My favorite season is summer, I used to cut mine and Lucifer’s hair, and I have a birthmark on my foot that inspired the shape of starfish.”

Ella sputters. “What even in the—Birthmark! That’s the truth! It’s way too specific!”

“Nope,” Michael says. “Hair. You lose.”

“Excuse me, we’re playing first to three, duh.”

“Well then, the floor is yours.”

Ella blows air out of her mouth as she thinks. There’s a little wrinkle in her brow that Michael can’t take his eyes off of. Before speaking, she closes her eyes and Michael rolls his. “My first car was a Jeep Cherokee, I learned to pick locks in middle school, and I’ve never been stung by a bee.”

“Jeep,” Michael says. “Though I only have a vague idea of what that is.”

“Dammit!” Ella exclaims, but there’s a smile on her face. “I closed my eyes!”

“They still twitched. My turn.” Michael thinks, but gets distracted for a moment by the pout on Ella’s face. She’s so frustrated, but still being a good sport. “Ok,” Michael says finally, “Dogs were my idea, cats were Lucifer’s idea, and platypus were an accident.”

Ella leans forward and stares into his eyes. “Say them again,” and Michael does. She glares, thinking, watching him, before finally saying, “Platypus.”

Michael’s grin breaks out slowly. “Wrong again, Lopez,” he says. “My sister Azrael came up with cats, not Lucifer. We just made them possible to appease her.”

“I swear to—” Ella cuts herself off and groans. “You need to teach me how you do this.”

“I’ve had quite a while to perfect my technique,” Michael teases.

“Let’s switch it up,” Ella says. “Two lies and a truth. You go first.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Alright, if you’re sure.” He thinks, smirking when Ella steals a fry. “Two lies, huh? Let’s see… My favorite color is blue, I like spicy over salty, and I prefer vodka to any other alcohol.”

“This was a bad idea,” Ella moans. “Spicy is the truth?” Michael just grins, and Ella throws her hands up. “ _Maldito seas,_ Michael!”

“You go,” Michael says, “even though you lost.”

“What a gentleman.”

“I try.”

Ella rolls her eyes and thinks. And… thinks. Looks up at him for a second before looking away. Michael’s brow furrows in confusion. “Ok…” Ella says finally. “Um… two—two lies and a truth. You… you hate me, you… are indifferent, or… you consider me a friend.”

Michael blanks; Ella stares down at the table. What kind of—what is she—Ella finally looks up at him and Michael’s chest tightens. “I—” he starts. His mouth is suddenly bone dry and he swallows the lump rapidly growing in his throat as best he can. Ella is looking at him so softly, hands shaking where she has them rested on the table, and Michael’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. “I’ve never had… friends,” Michael says dumbly. “Un-unless you count siblings as friends, but I don’t think that…”

“They… can,” Ella says softly.

It feels like they sit there for an hour, just staring into each other’s eyes. Michael doesn’t know what to say. Does he consider Ella a friend? He thinks back on their time together—her showing him her favorite shows, introducing him to music he relates to. He thinks of their day of shopping, their playful teasing. Handling the snake. Releasing it back into the wild.

He thinks of his confession, and hers in turn. Thinks of her bringing him breakfast, his wings under her touch. And last night. He thinks of last night, when he’d been falling apart and she held him so gently, like he was something worthy of that kind of touch and care.

“You’re my friend,” Michael says at last, quietly, like it’s a secret. Or a prayer. “That’s the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I’m a snake person lol Updates may be a little slow from here on out, since I still have no idea what I’m doing lol Also, I know court dates normally don’t get set this fast, but shh, it’s fiction.
> 
> Hey by the way, come hang out with me at my Twitter (@Becky__Falcon) where I’m very loud about my feelings and occasionally throw around ideas that may or may not end up in the fic at like 11 at night cuz I have no chill lol
> 
> https://mobile.twitter.com/Becky__Falcon


	7. Her First One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a fan of this chapter, but they can’t all be winners. It’s short and I guess considered the first filler chapter, but I hope you guys like it regardless. Enjoy!

Ella smiles all the way home. Michael isn’t sure why that makes him feel so warm inside, but it does. They both put their respective purchases away (Michael’s still not even half filling his closet) before meeting back in the living room. It almost feels like they’re establishing some sort of routine, both coming back out of their rooms around the same time. Ella flops onto the couch, flipping the TV on.

“So how ‘bout we do something different tonight?” she suggests. “Cannot believe I’m saying this, but I’m kinda _Trek_ ’d out.”

“Up to you,” Michael replies.

A shit-eating grin curls across Ella’s face. “So there’s this game,” she says. “It’s a drinking game I used to play with my friends back home. Basically we put a little paper mustache on the TV and whenever it lines up with someone’s face, we drink.”

Michael scoffs. “That sounds stupid,” he says. “I’m in.”

“ _Noice_!” Ella exclaims, jumping off of the sofa and rushing into the kitchen. “You pick something! Vodka, right?”

“Yup,” Michael says, already heading to the DVDs. He has seen exactly none of these movies, but he can tell a lot of them are parts of a series of some sort, which he assumes Ella will want to watch all at once. And preferably sober. Several movies he identifies as horror straight away, which still surprises him. And the series with dismembered body parts on each one? He doesn’t really want to know. 

“Find something?” Ella says as she crouches down next to him.

“I have no idea,” Michael chuckles.

Ella taps her chin. “Hmm…” she hums, looking over her collection. That little wrinkle appears in her brow again and Michael watches it. Watches her. “Oh! I got it!” Ella slides out a DVD labeled _Men In Black_ and holds it up. “Hella cool aliens, secret organizations, Will Smith,” she says. “There’s three or four of them but I only have the first one. How ‘bout it?”

Michael stands and gives the case a look-over. “Sure,” he says.

“Great!” Ella exclaims. She hands him two pieces of paper cut in the shape of a mustache with a piece of tape on the back. “You put yours on first and I’ll boot this up.”

Michael shakes his head and chuckles, but slaps the papers onto the screen randomly. Ella pops the DVD in and takes her time deciding where to put her mustaches.

Michael takes a seat back on the couch; Ella has put a bottle of Vodka for Michael and Tequila for herself as well as two glasses onto the coffee table. Michael pours both their drinks.

Ella bounces onto the couch as the movie starts. She holds her glass up and clinks it against Michael’s. “ _Salud_!”

——————

Dear Dad, they both drink _so much_. Ella declares early on that aliens totally count towards their game, and Michael’s random mustache placement bites him in the ass. Luckily, even without divinity, he can’t get truly drunk without a Lucifer-amount of alcohol, but by the time the credits roll, he’s nice and warm and a little sleepy.

Alternatively, Ella is _smashed_. She’s been quoting along with some of the characters, giggling like a fool when she messes the lines up, and Michael mainly watches and laughs at her instead of the movie. The credits end, the DVD menu music looping in the background, as Ella drunkenly tries to tell Michael fun facts and trivia about the _Men In Black_ series she’s learned over the years. Michael just smiles and nods as she babbles on. She’s animated, waving her hands, making unintentional shadow puppets in the dark, and acting out… something. One of the action sequences, Michael thinks, but Dad only knows; Ella may be too drunk to know, herself.

At one point Ella jumps to her feet and immediately loses her balance. Michael lurches forward and grabs her arm, but he doesn’t get his feet under him quite steadily enough and both of them go crashing back onto the couch. Ella doesn’t stop laughing the whole time, and sitting there with one of her legs over his and her elbow in his stomach, Michael throws his head back and bursts out laughing too.

——————

Michael blinks, and the sun is up, blinding bright. His mouth is dry and his neck aches, and when he looks down at himself, Ella’s legs are laid over his. The rest of her is curled up on the other end of the couch in almost the exact opposite of how she slept at the laundromat. 

Fuck, they fell asleep? When?

The _Men In Black_ music is still playing, Michael realizes, but the remote is nowhere to be found. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and stretches. His bones pop, but somehow, they don’t hurt nearly as much as they normally do. The pain is dull, actually, duller than he normally feels after he typically gets going for the day. His neck is the only issue, but once he gives it a little massage, even that pain calms down.

What time is it? Both their bottles and glasses are still on the coffee table, Michael’s significantly less full. The menu music loops again and Michael groans, growing increasingly annoyed with it. Ella’s legs are dead weight across his lap. He shifts, trying to see if he can somehow get up and turn the TV off without waking her, and catches sight of the remote cradled against Ella’s sleeping face. Slowly, carefully, he pries the device out of her hand and chokes on a laugh at the imprint of every single button it leaves across her cheek.

Ella stirs; Michael quickly flips the TV off and gives her the remote back, but she starts blinking awake regardless. “Maggle?” she slurs, then immediately groans and buries her head back into the sofa. “Whattime izzit?”

“No clue,” Michael says, wincing at how scratchy his own voice is. “We, uh, fell asleep.”

Ella groans again and curls into a ball, freeing Michael as her legs tuck into her chest. “Let me _die_ …” she croaks.

Michael chuckles. “No can do, Lopez.” But he slowly gets to his feet and makes his way into the kitchen. He fills the biggest glass he can find with water and grabs a bottle of pain meds from her bathroom. And damn, Ella looks pitiful. Not the kind of pathetic from before they moved in together, though, more like she can’t keep her eyes open and wants to be more openly upset, but knows it’ll just make her feel worse.

Michael taps Ella on the shoulder and hands her the water. “Advil?” she whimpers, and Michael presents her the bottle with a lazy flourish. “Yayyy…”

“Come on, sit up,” Michael says. She tries, weakly, so he helps her, but really it’s more like he just pulls her up while she tries not to fall back asleep. 

“How are you not…?” Ella starts, but cuts herself off when she starts chugging the water.

“Angel,” Michael shrugs. 

“ _Esta es una mierda_.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Ella downs the pills and the rest of the water and leans back against the couch. “Who’s dumb idea was that, anyway?” 

“Gee, I wonder.” Michael smirks and Ella lazily pushes him. 

“Ass,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Listen, I know I said we’d try new coffees and stuff every morning but—”

“Yeah I figured that was off the table today.” Michael gets up again and starts collecting their bottles and glasses. “I assume you still want something, though, right?”

“ _Yes_ please.”

Michael boots up the Keurig; it’s just past seven thirty, so it’s early, but not terribly so. Ella slides onto one of the breakfast bar stools and rests her head on her hands.

“I hope you know I can’t cook worth a damn,” Michael jokes. 

“Figured we’d order something maybe?” Ella says. “But I have no idea where my phone went.”

Michael finds the phone buried in the couch cushions, completely dead. He hands Ella his phone to make the order before plugging her phone in for her. 

“Just order me something,” Michael says. “Whatever you think I’d like. But a lot of it.”

Ella focuses on the screen like it will single handedly cure her hangover. “Forty minutes,” she says when she’s put the order in, and slides the phone back. “I think I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Michael smirks, trying to keep a straight face with the impression of the remote still plastered against her face. “Probably a good idea.”

When Ella disappears down the hall, Michael just stands in the kitchen and waits. The minute she screams “Oh, what the _fuck_?!” he finally lets himself dissolve into laughter. 

——————

In the time it takes for Ella to shower, Michael drinks both their coffees, pays for the food when it arrives, and eats one of the three meals Ella ordered for him. Ella finally emerges with a towel wrapped around her head, remote mark gone, looking a little more alive than when she’d woken up. She takes her seat beside Michael, humming in thanks when he slides her a fresh coffee, and tucks into her huge stack of pancakes.

Ella turns her phone on and her eyes go wide. “It’s Thursday,” she groans in shock. 

“So?” Michael says around a mouthful of egg burrito.

“We got drunk on a Wednesday.”

“ _You_ got drunk, you mean.”

The look Ella shoots Michael is icy. “You got buzzed, don’t lie,” she says. “I completely lost track of the days. I thought yesterday was at least Thursday.”

Michael shrugs and takes a forkful of her pancakes. “So what’s it matter? It’s not like you’re working anyway.”

Ella stabs a bit of egg that had fallen out of Michael’s burrito with her fork and pops it into her mouth. “So it’s the principle of the thing,” she says. “Or something. Whatever. Ugh. I think if we ever do that again we shouldn’t use so many mustaches.”

Michael laughs into a cough when he chokes on a bite of egg. “Wouldn’t think you’d ever want to drink again after this,” he says when he recovers. “Isn’t that what humans say? ‘Ugh, I’m never drinking again’ or something?”

“Yeah, well, I know me.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Ella shrugs and shoves a massive forkful of pancake into her mouth. “Bein’ realishtic,” she manages, then swallows. 

Michael smiles. “How’s the headache?” he asks. 

Ella hesitates. “Um, good,” she says, almost nervously. She loosens the towel from around her head for a moment and pulls a long black feather out of her hair. One of Michael’s feathers.

“Where did you get that?” Michael asks, stunned.

“It was under the couch,” Ella replies, watching the feather twirl between her fingers. “I think it was from yesterday. It’s, um, helping. Headache’s going away, a little.”

Michael blinks at her owlishly. He had no idea his feathers could even do that still, let alone after so long disconnected from his wings. “Oh,” he says. “Well. Good then. I—I’m glad.”

“I can—I don’t need to use it if—”

“No, no,” Michael is quick to reassure, “no, it’s fine. Just surprised it still worked.”

“Well, hey, I didn’t know it would help in the first place, so I mean…”

Michael’s brow furrows. “What did you think it _would_ do?”

Ella blushes and takes another big bite of food. She chews, not looking at him. Swallows. Takes a swig of coffee. “W-well,” she stammers, “I, um, I think it’s the reason I technically slept so good last night. Despite being, y’know, shwasted.”

“I don’t follow.”

Ella takes a deep breath and sighs it out slowly. “So, ok, please don’t be upset,” she says, finally looking up at him. “But, that night you decorated the house, I-I found one of your feathers in my room. I put it on the nightstand and I didn’t have nightmares that night. Or any night since. Actually, the only night I’ve had a nightmare recently was when I fell asleep on the sofa. But last night this one was still on the floor from when you showed me your wings. So I-I figured it had something to do with it, somehow. I don’t know.”

Michael leans back in his seat, mind reeling. “That’s…” he starts, but his mind goes blank. His wings—his fucked up wings—have actually been helping Ella sleep. And now they’re soothing her headache. Even without his divinity. Michael’s chest feels tight, but it’s unlike the tightness he’s felt towards Ella recently. It almost hurts, not physically, but emotionally somehow?

“I’m sorry,” Ella says softly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“No,” Michael breathes out, “no, I’m glad. I’m glad it’s doing something for you. I—I didn’t think they could. Do—something. Anything.”

“Well I mean, you _are_ an Angel.”

Michael sighs. “Haven’t felt like much of one recently.”

Ella lets out a sharp _pfft_ and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know about that,” she says. “Seem pretty angelic to me.”

“What part? The swearing? The fucked up wings? The dastardly schemes?”

Ella’s face scrunches up. “Who says ‘dastardly schemes’ anymore? No, wait—Lucifer, obviously.”

“Got it in one.”

Ella laughs. “How’d you sleep by the way?” She asks.

“Pretty… good, actually,” Michael replies, still surprised at how little pain he’s in. “Didn’t wake up so stiff, for once.”

“Good!” Ella beams. “I’m glad! Think it’s because you slept sitting up?”

“What would that have to do with it?”

“My _abuelo_ had back problems, so sometimes he slept in his recliner so he wouldn’t hurt in the morning,” Ella explains.

“What is _abuelo_ , _abuela_ anyway?”

“Grandpa and grandma.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “So you’re comparing me to your grandfather,” he says, but teasingly.

“Hey, you’re the one who wears tweed and carries around single tissues in his pocket.”

“Is that also a thing your grandpa does?”

“Did, yeah.”

“Oh. I’m—sorry.”

Ella waves him off. “It’s ok,” she says. “He was really sick for a long time. I know he’s in a better place now.”

Michael bites his tongue to keep from blurting out that she really doesn’t know that, given the nature of Heaven and Hell, and nods instead. “So you think sleeping sitting up might help my back.”

“Maybe? I mean, it’s not really healthy to sleep like that all the time, but maybe if you sleep with something elevating you a little? Oh! At Target they have these pillow things you put behind your—well—pillow and it sits you up at night. Maybe we could get you one of those?”

Michael shrugs. “I’m down for it,” he says. 

Ella tucks Michael’s discarded feather behind her ear. “We could go today if you want, after this headache dies down a little more.”

“Sure.”

——————

Michael decides he likes Target up until he catches sight of a price tag. Ella practically drags him through the store until they find the backrest she’d had in mind, arguing half-heartedly and in good nature with him about Walmart vs. Target all the way to checkout. They stop by the Starbucks built into the store on the way out, and Michael declares whatever the fuck he’s drinking to be the worst so far.

“Dude, it’s Starbucks!” Ella exclaims. “How is it terrible?”

“It just is,” Michael grumbles. 

Ella laughs. Her head still aches a bit, but the feather she’d slipped into her hair tie like a hippie is definitely helping. “At this point I’m just gonna make a list of all the places we still need to go. We’ve got to find coffee you like better than the break room.”

Ella throws the backrest into the back of the car, pausing at Michael standing a few feet away just staring at the car warily. “Let me drive,” he says.

Ella gapes. “You wanna drive?” she says. “Do you even know how?”

“How hard can it be?”

Ella stares at him for another moment before scoffing. “Ok,” she says incredulously as she tosses him the keys.

Within five minutes, he’s white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel and Ella may have legit whiplash. “I’m done,” Michael says in a hurry.

“Michael we haven’t even left the parking lot.”

“I’m _done_.”

“Ok.”

Ella tries not to laugh as they switch places. She has to readjust the seat (damn he’s tall) and takes a bit longer than necessary as an excuse to let him compose himself in peace. Already, she’s thinking of ways to convince him to let her teach him how to drive. Once he’d gotten behind the wheel, he’d looked so—well, not excited, but determined maybe. It was kind of adorable. 

They’re about halfway home when Ella’s phone rings. It’s Chloe, and Ella’s heart automatically skips for a moment. Michael gives her a knowing look out of the corner of his eye. Damn Angel spidey-sense.

Michael answers the phone before Ella can even grab it. “Hello,” he says, putting it on speaker.

“Michael?” Chloe says, sounding a bit panicked.

Ella takes the phone. “Hey girl,” she says, trying to stay calm. “What’s up?”

“Ella, hi,” Chloe says. “Listen, I’m so sorry to do this to you but Linda’s working and I can’t get ahold of Amenadiel and the babysitter is on vacation and—”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Ella exclaims. “Slow it down, _chica_! What’s wrong?!”

Chloe sighs from the other end of the line. “Nothing’s… wrong, necessarily. It’s Trixie. I just got a call from the school saying she’s not feeling well and it’s bad enough that the nurse wants to send her home. But none of us can get over there to get her. Is there any way you can pick her up?”

Ella looks at Michael, whose brows are practically in his hair. “Yyyyeah,” Ella says slowly, giving Michael a weird apologetic shrug; he at least shrugs back. “We can, um, take her until one of you gets off work, if you like? Don’t want her to be all alone if she’s not feeling good.”

Chloe sighs in obvious relief. “Oh, Ella, thank you so much,” she says. “Seriously, I owe you.”

“Nah, it’s not a problem!” Ella assures her. “Seriously, it’s no biggie. Just maybe let the school know we’re coming?”

“Sure thing. Hang on—Yes, I’ll be right there!” Chloe calls in the distance. “I gotta go. Seriously, Ella, thank you.”

She and Ella bid their farewells. Ella pulls the car over and turns to Michael. “I really hope this is ok,” she says. “Chloe’s been so great and you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Michael says, waving her off. “Let’s go get the little squirt.”

——————

Trixie is not happy to see Michael, which is no surprise. Even though Chloe had called the school to explain the situation, Trixie still calls her again anyway. Whatever conversation she has with her mom sways her enough to get into the car, but not enough to wipe the glare off of her face.

“Hey Trix,” Ella says. “How you feeling?”

“My stomach hurts,” Trixie says miserably, at least being civil towards Ella. “And I’m really nauseous.”

Ella tuts. “Aww, babe,” she says. “Well we’re gonna go back to our place and get you something to make you feel better. And then we can watch whatever you want, ok? Sound good?”

Trixie wraps her arms around her stomach and nods. “Thanks Miss Ella,” she says.

The ride home is silent. Uncomfortably so. The unease lingers like a cloud over all of them even when Ella gets Trixie settled on the sofa and goes off to find some kind of medicine for her.

Trixie actively glares at Michael; Michael tries not to let it get to him. He understands why she’s upset with him, in theory, but still. Damn, kid.

Michael drums his fingers on the breakfast bar, hoping Ella finds what she’s looking for fast. But it doesn’t seem likely, and so he and Trixie stare each other down.

“I don’t like you,” Trixie finally says.

“I know,” Michael replies.

“I wish you’d been Lucifer,” Trixie says.

“I get that a lot,” Michael replies.

Trixie’s glare becomes even more intense, somehow. “If you hurt my mom or dad or Lucifer again,” she hisses, “I’ll take out your ankles first.”

Maze has taught her well, it seems.

“Duly noted.”

Ella, mercifully, finds what she’s looking for. “Got it!” she exclaims as she emerges from the hallway. She gets Trixie a glass of water and breaks some kind of pill in half. “Let me make you some toast, too,” she says.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Trixie says. Ella leads her down the hall and then joins Michael at the bar.

“Like her mom, that one,” Michael says, smirking. “Hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Ella says. “She just… doesn’t know you. You gotta… I don’t know, show her you’re not a total dick.”

“I _am_ a total dick. Everyone thinks so.”

“I don’t.”

“Well you’re weird. We’ve established that.”

Ella pushes him playfully. “Dick.”

Michael smiles. “There it is.”

Ella laughs and drops her head into her hands. “Go put your stuff away,” she says, gesturing to the Target bag at his feet.

Michael shakes his head, but shuffles off anyway. He throws the backrest onto his bed when a small blast of cold hits him from behind—Trixie, in Ella’s bathroom.

Michael looks down the hall, hoping maybe to see Ella somehow aware that Trixie’s got… something going on. But of course, she’s not. Michael sighs and pushes Ella’s door open slowly. He can hear soft cries coming from the bathroom. Dad, now what?

“Trixie?” Michael says, tapping on the door. Her breath hitches.

“M-Michael?” she moans miserably. All traces of anger are gone from her voice. “C-can you get Miss Ella please?”

“Sure thing, kid,” Michael replies. He hurries as best as he can back out into the living room, and his confusion must show on his face, because the moment Ella catches sight of him, she shoots out of her seat.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Michael jabs a thumb towards her room. “Kid needs you,” he says.

Ella runs past him and her bedroom door closes. Michael slumps down onto the couch and waits. A minute goes by. Two. And then Ella’s voice calls out.

“Michael?” she says, and fuck, she sounds like she’s trying really hard not to freak out. “Can—can you go to the store and get me some things real quick?”

Which—what?

“Like what?” Michael calls back.

“I-I’ll text you. Please, Michael?”

Michael sighs. “Let me call an Uber.”

As Michael waits for his ride, Ella’s text comes through, and he has to reread it three or four times and he still has no idea of what’s happened.

_Lopez:_

_-maxi pads_

_-midol_

_-rice_

_-something chocolate???_

_i am NOT showing a 12 yr old how to use a tampon!_

Michael can only stare; the words might as well be in another language. A beat passes before Ella texts again.

_Lopez:_

_i promise i’ll explain l8er!!!!!! 🙏🏼_

  
  


The Uber texts him next, and with a huff, Michael is off.

————

Michael gets home to the sound of crying. “No!” he hears Trixie wail as he pushes into Ella’s room. “Don’t call my mom! Please! She’s busy and I don’t want to bother her!”

“Ok!” Ella says. “Ok, we don’t need to call Chloe, it’s ok!” Though she sounds like she’s trying to reassure herself.

“Knock knock,” Michael says, and the bathroom door bursts open. Michael holds up the Walmart bag and Ella rushes out to him.

“Oh my gosh,” she says softly so Trixie can’t hear her. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Seriously. Holy shit.” Ella digs into the bag and pulls out the Midol and pads. “Yes, perfect, oh my gosh.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Michael snaps.

Ella leans in close. “Trixie got her period,” she whispers, sounding about a minute away from crying herself. “Her _first_ _one_. And I’m totally freaking out!”

“No, you? Really?” Michael says sarcastically.

“I don’t know what to do!” she hisses. “I was the youngest of four brothers, Michael! Four! She doesn’t want me to call Chloe so I’m just trying to do what I’d normally do but—You got the rice right? Here, gimme.”

To Michael’s utter shock and confusion, Ella takes the bag of rice over to her sock drawer and pours an absurd amount of rice into one of her fucking socks.

Michael gapes. “What are you _doing_?”

“Put this in the microwave!” Ella exclaims, thrusting the rice-sock into Michael’s hands. “Two minutes, and then get a dish towel or something. Please?”

“Miss Ella?” Trixie calls from the bathroom, and without a word, Ella rushes off again.

——————

When she’d found Trixie crying on the toilet, blood in her underwear, the only thing that kept Ella from losing it was the little girl’s pathetic attempt of staying calm herself. Ella shows Trixie how to put on one of the pads Michael bought (the cheapest, but whatever, they worked) and gives her a Midol to help with the cramps. And if that doesn’t make sense now! Of course her stomach hurt! Of course she felt nauseous!

“I’m sorry,” Trixie moans pitifully. 

“No, Trix, it’s ok,” Ella says. “Seriously. I’m just glad you know what’s going on. When I got mine?” She whistles. “I was nine! Nobody told me what any of this was. I got my first period and I stained the sofa! My brothers thought I was dying! I was crying and Jay called my _abuela_ —and I thought he was gonna cry—and my _abuela_ got so happy and congratulated me, and like—again—we thought I was dying!”

Trixie wipes her eyes and smiles. “Your mom didn’t explain it to you?”

Ella bites her lip. No, her mom didn’t explain anything to her. In fact, Ella got her first period a week after the car crash. Stress sometimes triggers it, Ella knows now, but back then, she thought it was just another possible ‘punishment’ sent from God.

“My _abuela_ did,” Ella says. “She explained everything and threw me a party. A _period party_.”

“Ew!” Trixie exclaims, but she’s laughing.

“Right? Red decorations! Red drinks! Red velvet cake! Well, actually that part wasn’t that bad. But still, I was mortified! _Abuela_ and my aunts kept going on about how I was a woman now and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and eat that whole cake by myself.”

Trixie laughs, then her eyes shoot wide. “What do you think a period party would be like if Maze throws it?” she asks. 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Ella says without thinking. Truly, the thought is horrifying. But clearly now that the thought has been spoken, Trixie is on board with it.

“I can’t wait to tell her,” she says. 

Ella laughs nervously. “Well, sure,” she says, “but why don’t you wrap up in here and come on out to the living room? We’ll get you set up with a heat pack and a blanket and—hey, guess what? Michael got you _chocolate_.”

——————

Turns out, Michael got a _lot_ of chocolate. Whether to get Trixie into his good graces or just out of simple confusion as to what he should get, Ella isn’t sure, but watching Trixie stuff her face next to him on the sofa, she’s incredibly thankful. 

The rice-sock heat pack is wrapped in a towel and laid across Trixie’s abdomen. Michael eyes her out of the corner of his eye, but clearly the kid’s too content with her sweets to focus on being upset with him. 

Ella plops down onto the sofa, Trixie settled between the two of them, and hands her the remote. “What do you wanna watch?” she asks. “Anything you want.”

“Can we watch a horror movie?” Trixie asks, and Michael just manages to catch himself before laughing.

Ella gives him a sharp look over Trixie’s head. “Um, sure,” she says warily. “Depends on which one, but—”

“ _The Shining_?” Trixie asks, which, in terms of horror movies isn’t that bad, thankfully, so Ella puts it on. She forgets about the enormous wave of elevator blood until about a minute before the scene actually comes on, and promptly flips out trying to pause the movie.

“Trix can you get me a water from the fridge?” she asks, her voice squeaking with barely-concealed panic.

Trixie gives her a weird look, but goes into the fridge anyway. When she gets up, a feather falls out of the towel her makeshift heat pack is wrapped in, and Michael nudges it under the sofa with his foot. Ella mutes the movie and let’s it run until the blood scene is over, pausing right when the scene changes, and when Trixie returns, Michael starts laughing.

“What?” Trixie snaps.

“Nothing, nothing,” Michael says.

The rest of the movie, as well as the three after it, pass without incident, to Ella’s immense relief. The doorbell rings not long after, and Michael volunteers to answer it. Which he regrets immediately.

It’s Dan. Because of course it is. “Where’s my daughter?” Dan snaps.

“Daddy!” Trixie calls from the living room.

Dan literally shoves past Michael. “Do come in,” Michael says sarcastically.

“Hey Monkey,” Dan says as Trixie wraps her arms around him. “Did you have fun with Miss Ella?”

Trixie looks up at Ella and nods. “Yeah,” she says. 

Ella clears her throat. “We, um…”

“I got my period,” Trixie blurts, and Dan sputters like a fish. 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s, um… great, Monkey. We’ll—have to tell Mommy.”

Trixie takes Dan’s hand and they head outside. “Bye Miss Ella!” she says over her shoulder. “Bye Michael. Daddy, do you think Maze could throw me a period party?”

The door swings closed, and Michael immediately busts out laughing. 


	8. Alone With It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKLE UP KIDDIES this one is DARK. No idea where this came from. The inspiration hit me while getting a fucking Christmas tree with my parents, if all things. This chapter is the shortest but I couldn’t make myself write anything after the last scene. Just didn’t feel right. Believe it or not, as much as I love whump, this is the first time I’ve ever written it lol
> 
> POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS for slight gore and body horror, and Michael’s state of mind in general.

That night, Michael dreams—truly dreams—for the first time.

There’s no beginning. Michael just becomes aware of himself, suddenly. He doesn’t know where he is, but it’s dark. He’s—not floating, but… just existing in this dark place. He realizes, with a start, that his wings are unfurled behind him and—fuck, they’re _perfect._ This dark place—it’s calm and he’s in _no pain_. He feels _whole_ for the first time in millennia. 

Michael throws his arms out, both of them, just because he can. He twists and his spine doesn’t twinge once, stretches and nothing pops, kicks out and nothing aches. The feathers of his right wing, all of them, every single one full and beautiful, glow with radiance in the strange darkness.

Michael flies, though there’s nothing to push off of; he’s just suddenly in movement, soaring through this inky existence. Higher and higher he pushes himself, until his wings do ache, but in a way he hasn’t felt in so long. He welcomes the pain just as he welcomes the tears that slip from his eyes, whether from the speed of his flying or the sheer joy and freedom he feels, he doesn’t care. 

Finally, he can fly no more and stops, but doesn’t drop. He just exists—floats? Who cares!—in this nothingness and sends his wings away. Again, there is no pain. He wipes his eyes and feels—nothing. Michael explores his face with both hands; even _that_ scar is gone. Michael laughs, let’s his hands fall and he’s—

In Father’s chambers, in the Silver City, the sky and stone beneath him a calming white despite the stark contrast to the darkness he’s been in. Father smiles at him from down the hall, and Michael can’t help it—he runs.

“Father!” he exclaims. Dad opens His arms to His son and embraces him tightly.

“My boy,” Dad says. “Oh my beautiful—” Dad’s hands still at Michael’s back, where his wings would connect when they unfurl, and he pulls back.

“Father?” Michael says.

Dad searches Michael’s face and frowns. “Oh,” He says softly. He hums and nods, eyes utterly devoid of emotion. Michael feels a chill run down his spine as Dad steps back and turns away.

“Dad?” Michael says, voice barely a whisper.

“It seems I was mistaken,” Dad says, clasping his hands behind his back.

Michael reaches out. “I don’t understand—” he starts, but the slam of a door behind him cuts him off.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lucifer says as he strides into the room. His wings, white and glowing and gorgeous, fan out beside him. “You know how traffic is, these days.”

Dad’s face lights up. “Ah, there you are, son!” He exclaims, and pushes past Michael. It feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

“The prodigal son returns!” Lucifer says, and he and Dad embrace. Lucifer notices Michael from over Dad’s shoulder and his expression sours. 

Dad releases Lucifer and looks to Michael as well. “Ah, yes, that,” He says. “Well, no matter. Now you’re back, My Lightbringer. My proudest work. My beautiful son. All according to plan.”

“Father,” Michael says, and his voice cracks harshly on the word. “What’s going on?”

“What does it look like, Mikey?” Lucifer sneers. His wings stretch to their full wingspan, blinding Michael with their light, and Michael finds his wings are out as well, except—

The right one is ruined again. Shredded, almost nothing but flesh and bone. Ravaged, rotting. Dad and Lucifer both recoil in disgust.

“Disgrace,” Dad hisses, and all of Michael’s brothers and sisters echo His Word around them. 

“You dare insult the Lord Almighty with your _filth_?” Raphael says from somewhere. 

“No,” Michael chokes out. “No, I-I—this—I did what I was told!”

“You did the bare minimum of what I asked of you,” Dad snaps, stepping closer. “And even then, you couldn’t do it.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer hisses, circling Michael and his ruined wings. “You hesitated, remember? You should have fallen with me.”

“No!” Michael gasps. “No, I obeyed! Father, Lucifer begged me not to do it, but I—but I obeyed!”

Father’s hand shoots out, grabs Michael by the throat. “The only reason,” Father snarls, “is because you were too _weak_ , left yourself open, and let _Sandalphon_ catch you unaware. Maybe _he_ should’ve been here all this time, with his family, instead of a pitiful excuse for an Angel that can’t even do what he’s told correctly.”

Michael can’t breathe. His knees collapse under him, but Dad’s grip is an iron vice around his throat. “Fa—ther—” he gasps, “p-please—f-forgive me!”

“Forgive you?!” Father laughs, and the Host laughs along around them, a cruel mockery of the chorus they’d once been. “Why should I forgive you? After all that you _are_ , and then almost ruining My plan?”

“P-please, I-I can be better!” Michael cries, gripping his Father’s hands desperately. “I can fix this!”

“Fix this?” Amenadiel says, suddenly at Dad’s side. “Fix _what_? Lucifer has already cleaned up all of your messes.”

“Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer!” the Host cries out at once, and his twin glows under the praise.

“There’s not even anything of you worth salvaging,” Dad says, and releases Michael from His grip.

Michael collapses to the floor, coughing and sputtering. His wings are useless weights beside him, pulling him down.

Lucifer circles Michael again, pulls his head back by his hair. “I don’t know about that, Dad,” he says, smile wicked and manic as he eyes Michael’s undamaged wing. “We could just make another one. A better one. I believe there is _juuuuust_ enough.”

Dad smiles. “My son,” He says, spreading His arms, “let it be done.”

Before Michael can speak, scream, gasp, anything, Lucifer has him face down on the ground. He can’t breathe—fuck, no, please, he can’t breathe!—and he claws at the stone. His nails catch and break, smearing blood on the once-pristine white floor. The Host roars in glee and disgust around them, chanting for more, more, _more_! Lucifer’s knee drills into Michael’s spine, and something cracks. He howls, then, the sound mangled and warped as it’s ripped from his throat.

Lucifer’s grip in Michael’s hair tightens and he pulls his head back even further. “Lucifer, please!” Michael sobs out, tears streaming down his face. “Please! Don’t do this! I’m your brother!”

“Michael, Michael, Michael,” Lucifer coos into Michael’s ear. “Why don’t I call you what you really are?” he says, grips Michael’s left wing, and—“ _Unworthy_ ”—rips it from Michael’s back.

Michael shrieks in agony, and the ground below him shatters. He’s falling, falling, falling, _oh God, Dad, Father, please make it stop! Mother, Amenadiel, Raphael, Gabriel, Lucifer—anyone, please!_ Michael falls and falls and falls, the hole from where his wing was pulled streaming blood and ichor through the Heavens as he plummets. He screams, howls, begs, pleads until his voice is gone and his throat burns. And then the rest of him burns—not with heat, but with cold. Ice, the sharp unending burn of ice, freezing from the inside out. His skin cracks and splits, spiderwebs of broken ice across his body, and he feels it, feels every bit—and then all at once, he—

_Shatters_.

Gasps. Cries out. Bucks, but can’t move. He’s face down still—no, no, please, mercy!—strapped to that cold unforgiving metal. Someone is crying, wailing in the distance. His wings— _wing_ , he sobs, his _wing_ is _gone_ —burns with fiery agonizing pain, strapped down beside him. He opens his eyes—when had he closed them?—and he’s—

_No, please. Please, no. Not here._

“Yes,” the familiar voice says, and a hand touches his back; Michael screams, the gentle touch lighting up a fire across his ruined skin. “Shh,” the voice says. “You don’t know how much good you’re doing here, Michael. Shame about the wing, though we can fix that.”

Michael squeezes his eyes closed. The hand touches—the hole where his wing once was—and unbelievably a stronger stab of pain shoots through him. Michael screams and writhes and begs and pleads, but his voice cuts off in a gasp as something shoots from the hole and a crack like that of breaking bone deafens him. Another crack, and another, and another, and suddenly it’s like Michael is outside and inside of himself at the same time, watching himself but pain inescapable. From the depths of him rises a tangle of branches, soaked in blood and sinew, cracking horribly as they grow and grow and expand out of him, warping around the room, and suddenly the restraints are gone but the branches are stabbing through him, hand, arm, foot, leg, back, wing, pinning him to the table, carving through and under his skin like jagged splintered veins.

He can’t get enough air into his lungs to scream, anymore. The touch, again, and it _burns_. “Maybe this time, yes?” the voice says, and even through all of the pain and agony, he feels the pin-prick of the needle in the scar on his ruined wing. Warmth inside; he feels heavy, dizzy, mind swimming, blood boiling, and when he cries he looks up and—

Ella is standing above him, hands cupped out in front of her, both eyes gone and dripping blood. “I’ve never held a snake before,” she says, and the serpent from the Garden erupts from the empty socket. 

“E-Ella—” Michael gasps, and more branches erupt from down his throat, out of his mouth.

A sword— _Michael_ ’s sword, oh fuck, _no, please_ —plunges through Ella’s chest and into the table before Michael’s face. “It is not _that_ bad,” Ella says, blood streaming from her lips. “So,” the snake slithers down Ella’s arms, onto the table, rears up—“how ‘bout we do something different tonight?”—and—

_Strikes_.

Suddenly, all at once, Michael is awake. He sucks in air like a man dying, and vomits everywhere.

——————

Michael isn’t sure how long he spends sitting on the floor of his shower, shaking and crying silently, but it was dark when he woke and now there’s sunlight peeking in through the window. He just sits there under the spray, trembling like he’s been doused in ice, but the water is damn near burning against his skin. Somehow, he must not have made any noise in the night, because Ella sleeps on, blissfully unaware next door. And for that, Michael is grateful. 

Michael has never—his dreams don’t—the closest thing Michael has ever had to a dream has been flashbacks in the half-consciousness of waking. Either that or flashes of feelings and emotions and nothing else. He would wake remembering fear or joy or anger, but to suddenly _see_ everything—and to see all of _that_ —

Michael swallows down the urge to vomit again. He can’t stop staring at his hands, almost waiting for the skin to freeze and crack and split like it had in his dream despite the burning sting of the shower. Both of his wings are still there—he can feel them—but he opens and curls them around himself anyway just to make sure, damn the pain and the water that weighs them down. The left wing is still there, and the right, although still broken, is nowhere near the rotting mess it had been in his dream. 

Michael startles like he’s been shocked when there’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Morning,” Ella says softly, almost nervously, on the other side. “You, um, you wanna go get coffee?”

Michael loses himself for a minute, only realizing he hasn’t said anything when Ella repeats the question. “No,” he says.

“Ok,” Ella says, sounding unsure. “Um… You want me to make you coffee from home?”

“No,” Michael says. Swallows thickly. “Thank you.”

There’s a pause. “Ok,” Ella says again. “W-well, um… I, um, was planning on going out, for a little bit. Is that ok?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says pathetically, resting his head against the tile wall. He’s still shaking. “Have fun.”

“I’ll have my phone,” Ella says. “Text me if—if you—if you need anything, or… you know. I-I’ll be back, ok?”

Why does it sound like she’s trying to reassure him? “Ok,” Michael says, and it’s quiet again.

——————

The shakes finally start to subside, ironically, when the hot water runs out. And given that this Lucifer’s house with all of the most expensive shit on the market, the fact that Michael uses _all of the hot water_ wallowing in his own panic and fear is enough to snap him back into himself. He turns the water off from the floor, taking his time getting to his feet and shaking his wings out. His normal pain is still there, but his back is now a mess of red almost-burned flesh, so the usually taught muscles are numb with it. He doesn’t care.

Michael wraps himself in as many towels as it takes to dry himself and his wings (which is a lot) before finally emerging from the bathroom. The cold air assaults him like a brick wall, goosebumps breaking out across his entire body. The fog of his mind is beginning to clear along with the steam from the shower, and as he begins going through the motions of getting dressed, he suddenly realizes something is… off about his room.

Michael stands there, half naked and dripping, staring at his bed. His… _clean_ bed. His _changed_ bed. The comforter, sheets, pillowcase, all of it is different from the ones he slept in—and vomited on—the night before. His carpet has been scrubbed. The pajamas he’d ripped off are gone. The air smells like—he sniffs—pine oak? How was there any left after he’d used so much of it in Ella’s room?

And— _Ella_ , he realizes with a start. Ella did this. Michael moves robotically, sitting on the edge of his bed, and ghosts his hand over the fresh comforter. His chest hurts, aches even, and his heart feels like it’s been twisted in a vice. Ella did this for him. Ella did this for him, but she shouldn’t have _needed_ to in the first place! Weak, he’s weak, Michael is so weak, he’s—

——————

Michael was still in the shower when Ella got home from the laundromat and grocery store. In the kitchen, she was putting away food when she finally heard the water turn off. Now she stands there, frozen, waiting for… something. She doesn’t know what to do. Clearly something had happened last night, but Michael is very… fragile when things happen, she’s learning. And she knows he’d tear the house down with his bare hands if she ever expressed this discovery, but it’s the truth. They’re both fragile. And—maybe this is a part of the Big Guy’s plan too, having them live together. Michael is here to help Ella, yes, but maybe she can help _him_ too.

She just doesn’t know how the Hell to _do that_.

Ella creeps down the hall. Maybe she can talk to him? Maybe hold him, like she had that night? But then, how does she even begin to breach the subject? Does she just ask him? If Ella’s being honest, she has never been one to ask before hugging someone anyway, but this situation is delicate. This isn’t _‘My boyfriend broke up with me’_ or _‘My family dog died’_ , this is quite possibly legit PTSD he’s dealing with, or something at least! Not that she’s not dealing with some herself—she’s not in denial; she’s got it too. She’s just avoided being officially diagnosed. But still. 

Voices break Ella out of her thoughts, and her eyes widen at what she hears. 

_Lucifer_ , from behind Michael’s door, scoffs. “Pathetic,” he says. “I mean, really, a bloody dream and you’re a disgusting mess, making Miss fucking Lopez clean up after you? I’d say how the mighty have fallen but really, you’ve always been this wretched waste of—”

Ella’s heard enough, horrified at what she’s hearing her best friend say. She slams the door open, not even contemplating knocking. “Lucifer!” she exclaims, ready to give the Devil her own brand of Hell. “What the fuck—” 

Except, Lucifer isn’t in Michael’s room. Only Michael is. And he’s looking at her in sheer horror and embarrassment. 

“Lopez,” he chokes out. His face is red, eyes wet, and he’s breathing hard. 

“Where’s Lucifer?” Ella snaps. “Where is he? How long has he been saying those things to you?!”

Michael just stares, mouth hanging open. Ella rushes over and when she takes his hands, he finally looks away. “Lucifer… isn’t here,” he says lamely.

Ella pulls out her phone. “LA may be big but he’s only got so many places he can fly to,” she says angrily, opening up her contacts. But Michael covers her hand with his, blocking the screen.

“Lucifer was never here,” Michael says, and it sounds like it causes him physical pain to admit.

Ella reels. “What do you mean?” she asks. “That voice—” Michael pulls his hand back, curls into himself, and suddenly, Ella _understands_. “You,” she breathes. “That was… you… talking to yourself.” 

Michael’s silence is deafening.

Ella feels tears prick her eyes. She breathes in to speak but—but the sob chokes out of her against her will.

Michael finally looks up at her. “No,” he says softly. “Don’t—fuck, please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you could hear me. I always make sure I’m alone when—” He cuts himself off and Ella sobs again in horror.

“How often do you do this?” she cries. “Michael, oh my God.”

“Not… a lot,” Michael says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“ _Upset_ me?!” Ella exclaims. “Michael, you’re insulting yourself as your brother!”

“I’m sorry,” Michael says again. “I know he’s your friend. I didn’t mean to warp your perception of him in any way.”

“ _That’s_ what you think this is about?!”

Michael looks up. “Yes?”

Oh _God_. Ella lunges forward and wraps her arms around Michael’s neck. She cries into his shoulder, heart aching for him as he slowly brings his hands up to rest at her back. 

“Michael, please, _please_ don’t ever do that again,” she begs. “Please. Don’t talk to yourself like that. Don’t _say_ those things about yourself. Please.”

Michael bows his head into the crook of Ella’s neck. “I—Ok,” he says softly.

“Promise me.”

“I’ll—try.”

Ella pulls back and wipes her eyes. “And promise me if you ever feel like—like doing that again you’ll come to me, ok? Don’t give me that ‘I’m supposed to be helping you’ crap, ok? I’m human, I know I don’t get Angel stuff or celestial things or anything like that but—but please, Michael. I may be able to help, I may not, but—but I _won’t_ let you be alone with it.”

Michael swallows the lump in his throat. “I promise,” he whispers, quiet like a prayer. 

Ella hiccups and pulls Michael in again. She buries one hand in his hair and rubs his back gently with the other. Michael trembles lightly, but after a moment tightens his arms around Ella and grips her shirt like he’s her lifeline. And, at least in this moment, Ella realizes, she just might be.

Ella feels her shirt dampen under Michael’s face against her neck, and she casts her gaze up to the ceiling. 

_Dear God_ , she prays, _I don’t know if You sent Michael to me or me to Michael but… if this is Your Will, for us to help each other, then I trust You. I’ve always trusted You, with all my heart. Your son is a good person. And I will be here for him, always. Amen._


	9. That’s The Power Of An Ella Lopez Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m back!!
> 
> Michael gives Ella the SparkNotes version of his trauma. 
> 
> Ella takes Michael to church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS I’m so sorry this took so long! I didn’t mean to take a little hiatus, shit just got crazy and hasn’t really stopped. Then I got into Danganronpa and that’s been crazy. I’m not? Super happy? With how this turned out? But I’m glad I got something anyway. Y’all deserve that and so much more. 
> 
> Anyway have a half-filler. What the fuck am I doing?

It starts, as most things for Michael normally do, with Lucifer.

“It wasn’t always so… negative,” Michael says. Ella has manhandled—Angelhandled? Someone help him, he’s starting to think like her—him back onto the bed and up against the headboard, her behind him in a position very similar to the night Michael had his half-conscious flashback; he’s leaning more against the back pillow than Ella’s body this time, though. Ella has one arm around his shoulder and the other settled against his chest, grounding him. For all that Michael would normally protest, he finds he’s too exhausted to give a shit. Though he finds he can’t face her, even as she gently presses his head to the nape of her neck. So there they sit, both facing the opposite wall, breathing softly.

“...What do you mean?” Ella says finally, though gently, as if sensing Michael wants to get this out but doesn’t know how to start. It’s what Michael needs, somehow, because her asking gives him a minute to figure it out for himself, too.

“We… were the first twins,” he says a few moments later. “We were always together. _Always_.” He huffs a bitter little laugh. “So we were always each other’s running commentary, you could say.” 

Ella leans her cheek against his head, and he can feel her smiling into his hair. “No other little troublemaker duos up there?” she asks.

Michael smiles softly. “Nope. Just us. Don’t know why, but that’s just what Dad and Mom decided to do and never did again. Maybe we turned them off to the idea. You got one thing right. We really _were_ troublemakers.”

“Sounds like my brothers,” Ella chuckles. “We all drove _Abuela_ totally _loca_ , but they drove her up the damn walls sometimes.”

Michael nods. “That was us,” he says. “We had so many brothers and sisters, but we were the closest of any of us. And we worked together, too, to create—” Michael gestures vaguely with one hand, “—all of this. And you know him, he _never_ shuts up. Millenia of that stupid accent droning on and on and on about literally any and everything. Thought I’d go insane some days. So when… After the Rebellion, it—it was just… so quiet. All the time. And after everything that happened during the battle, and all… the pain—I don’t know, I just… started talking to myself, as him. It was… it was stupid, but it was… like he was still there.”

Ella shifts. “It’s not stupid,” she says firmly.

“Sure,” Michael replies, noncommittal. 

“It’s _not_ ,” Ella insists.

Michael takes a deep breath. “I didn’t used to do it a lot,” he goes on, hoping she’ll drop it for now. He’s too tired to fight. Mercifully, she seems to take the hint. “Just when it was too quiet or particularly…” Lonely, he doesn’t say. Won’t admit that, not yet. Maybe not ever. But Ella seems to get it, because she gives a small hum and nods. “At first it would be just little things. Like one of our siblings would fly by and ‘About bloody time she’s learning,’ or another sibling would get their job and ‘Never would’ve guessed but good for him’. That kind of thing.”

“Running commentary,” Ella says, and Michael smiles.

“Yeah, exactly.”

There’s a brief pause before Ella speaks again. “What changed?”

Michael clears his throat. “I can’t say there was ever a moment that really… changed things,” he says. “Just, changing that voice with how I felt over the years. There were some times I didn’t even realize the nature of what I was saying, I guess you’d say. Just, things I thought he might say. But then… uh…” Michael’s heartbeat picks up. Shit. Ella’s hand is over his heart; there’s no way she doesn’t notice. “A few years ago… I mean, a long time ago for you, I guess, but uh…”

“Michael,” Ella says softly. “This is about… what keeps upsetting you, right? The—the flashback, the nightmare…”

Michael swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he chokes out.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know. I just… want you to understand.”

Ella shifts again and leans over so she’s looking Michael in the eye. She searches his face for a moment before leaning back again, apparently satisfied with whatever she finds. Michael doesn’t know what she could be looking for; he knows how horrible he looks right now, because he feels every bit of it and more. 

Ella settles the hand around his shoulder into the thick of his hair and Michael’s eyes slide closed. She’s so gentle, brushing through the damp tangled mess still knotted up from the shower. Her other hand, the hand over his rapidly beating heart, moves to take his own hand and settle them both on his chest.

“Ok,” she whispers, and goosebumps break out across Michael’s skin.

Michael takes a deep breath. “I was… taken,” he starts. “Uh, captured, I guess. I didn’t visit Earth very often, just… just kind of watched. But Lucifer left Hell, again. And I don’t know what compelled me to do this, but I decided I wanted to go down and see him. Uh, see him, fight him, something. Amenadiel had told me about Lucifer’s little vacations before he was sent down to take him back to Hell and, I don’t know, I guess I wanted to see for myself how he was handling… post-Rebellion life.” Michael realizes he’s squeezing Ella’s hand, hard, but she says nothing even after he lets go. “I was… intercepted in New York, I think it was. By—by… He—he was… I-intercepted by… by one of…”

“Michael, it’s ok,” Ella says. “You don’t need to tell me that.”

“But it’s _important_ ,” Michael insists, voice hoarse.

“But it’s _hurting you_ ,” Ella replies.

Michael shakes his head. He feels numb, almost; it’s the only way he can even begin talking about this. Keep it vague. Keep it vague. _Keep it vague_. “A-anyway, I was… drugged pretty heavily. Constantly. H-he, uh, discovered the sc-scar on my wing… was a weak point. Normally, Angels can only be hurt by other Angels and Hell-forged weapons, and even then, it’s only external injuries—cuts, bruises, that kind of thing. B-but he discovered that the tissue was so messed up that… not only could he hurt me, he could drug me. I-I still don’t know what it was. I just remember this pain in my back and then… I woke up somewhere else, half out of my mind. And I was there for, I mean, years. _Years_. A-and he did… things. And sometimes there were others he’d bring, and hurt. Humans. Human… women.” Michael pauses, but he chokes anyway. Shakes his head. Takes a deep breath. “And then he would leave, for long stretches of time. So when it was quiet, when he and the… the others were gone, I would… talk. It was talk or go insane. A-and there were some days where I wasn’t sure if it was me talking or if Lucifer was actually there. And—and the longer I was there, the more fucked up I was… I don’t know, I just started… I didn’t know what was real, half the time, and I was in so much fucking pain, a-and… I was… I was so angry, and hurt, and sca—” Michael cuts himself off. He’s said too much. Damn him, he’s said too much. And fuck, he hasn’t thought of those women in so long. The numbness is fading, and real, genuine panic is beginning to set in. His heart is fucking racing, he’s shaking, sweating, and—

Ella sniffs, and Michael only realizes he’s crying when her hand leaves his hair to wipe her own eyes. “I’m so s-sorry, Michael,” Ella cries. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Y-you didn’t deserve that.” Ella chokes on a sob and pulls Michael in for a hug.

Michael lets himself be turned to press his face into her neck and shifts as best as he can to wrap an arm around her as well. It hurts, dammit, his spine is screaming, but holding her and being held by her may be the only thing keeping him together right now.

Ella holds him tightly through her tears, rubbing circles into his back and shoulder, and pressing her cheek against his hair. For all that Michael can barely breathe, he’s warm in her embrace. And he feels safe. He could snap her like a twig—Hell, a regular human probably could too—and he feels safe. 

They lay together like that for a long time. So long that both of their tears have dried up and all that remains is exhaustion. “I won’t talk to myself like that anymore,” Michael says softly. “Or, I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

He feels Ella nod into his hair. “Does Lucifer know?” she asks.

“ _No one_ knows,” Michael says, the heaviness of the statement weighing both of them down. No one, in all of existence—“Except you, now.”

Ella makes a broken sound in the back of her throat and takes a shaky breath. “What can I do?” she asks, and it actually startles a laugh out of Michael.

“I have no idea,” he says. “But, this—” Michael closes his eyes, “is making it better.”

Ella chuckles shakily. “That’s the power of an Ella Lopez hug for you.”

Michael chuckles back. “I guess so.”

Suddenly, Ella vibrates. Or rather, her pocket does. “Crap,” she gasps, digging her phone out. 

“Take it,” Michael says.

“It’s only a text,” Ella replies, but she holds it up in front of her, coincidentally also for Michael to see, regardless.

It’s Lucifer. Because _of course it is_.

Ella starts stuffing her phone back into her pocket, but Michael stops her. “What does he want?” he asks.

“He can wait.”

“Well now I’m curious,” Michael lies. The closeness and all of Ella’s focus is starting to overwhelm him as the emotions of the morning begin to fade. Ella lets him sit up, so that they’re both leaning against the headboard, but keeps the space between them nonexistent.

Ella opens the text and immediately does a double take. “Oh my gosh,” she says, “I cannot take it with his emoji texts.”

“His what?”

“Look,” Ella hands Michael the phone. Lucifer has sent a string of nonsensical emojis that upon first glance has Michael feeling too, but when he thinks about it… 

“Oh,” Michael says. “He wants to know if you’re ‘down’ to ‘party’ at ‘Lux’ this weekend.”

Ella shoots Michael an incredulous look. “How the fuck did you figure that out?”

Michael actually laughs. “Look, it’s right there,” he says. 

_Lucifer:_

_👩⚕️⬇️🎉🌟🗓🌞?_

“I’m looking, but I’m not seeing,” Ella says.

“Scientist, down arrow, party… thing, star, calendar, sun,” Michael explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Scientist is you, down and party are obvious, Lux is the star, calendar and sun are Sunday. So I guess specifically, Lucifer wants to know if you’re still down to party at Lux on _Sunday_ , but whatever.”

Ella just stares at him. “Holy crap,” she says.

“He’s not that hard to figure out.”

“To his twin, maybe.”

Michael scoffs, but it’s playful. “What are you going to say?”

Ella groans. “I completely forgot I said we’d hang out. No way I’m going _now_.”

“Why not?”

Ella shoots him a look again. “Why not?” she echoes. “Michael, after what you just went through? I’m not going to a party! I’ll just tell him…”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Yeah, tell him what? About my fucking meltdown? Or are you going to try to lie to him again?”

Ella huffs, setting her phone down in her lap. “You’re supposed to be helping me with that,” she says. 

“Nooo, I’m supposed to be helping you with your trauma,” Michael replies. “And that’s going _just swell_ , isn’t it?” Ella pushes Michael gently and he smiles. “Look, today’s only Friday or something, right? I’ll be fine again in like an hour anyway. You should go.”

Ella chews her lip, then narrows her eyes at Michael. Oh, this should be good. “I’ll go if _you_ do,” she says cockily. And fuck, she’s bluffing. Michael _knows_ she’s bluffing. Damn if he doesn’t want to go to Lux any time soon. But Ella’s done so much for him, and she really does deserve to go out and have fun. 

Fuck. _Fuck_. Fuck her and fuck him. And fuck Lucifer for good measure. “Deal.” Michael calls her bluff, and Ella’s eyes go wide.

“ _You_ are going to go to _Lux_ ,” she says, “with _me_ , to hang out with _Lucifer_.”

“Sure.”

Ella reels. “Holy shit, you really aren’t feeling good.”

Michael gently pushes Ella just like she pushed him. She pushes him back and he pokes a finger into her side. Why he does that, he doesn’t know, but the squeak of surprise from Ella pulls at something warm in his chest. Both of them burst out laughing, and it’s like the turmoil of the morning melts away. How Ella does this—makes Michael feel good and like his thoughts aren’t ready to swallow him whole, Michael isn’t sure, but he’s grateful for it like nothing else. He owes Azrael many, many apologies.

“You going to tell him you’re going?” Michael asks, gesturing at Ella’s phone. 

Ella sits there for a moment, lost in thought. “Yeah, I just… trying to figure out what time mass on Saturday is. Thinking of going to that one instead of Sunday morning so I can be all rested for when it inevitably gets crazy at Lux.”

“You still go to church?”

“Well, yeah. It makes me feel good.”

Michael holds his hands up. “Ok, whatever works for you, I guess.”

Ella bites her lip. “You could come to that, too, if you like.”

_What_?

“You’re asking an Angel to go to church with you?” Michael exclaims. “Do you realize how weird that sounds?”

Ella throws her arms up. “Well, I don’t know!” she exclaims back. “I thought maybe it would help you be closer to your Dad, or whatever.”

“It’s just a building. It’s no different and no closer to Him than us just sitting here.”

Ella rolls her eyes. “It’s the principle of the thing,” she says. “And it’s ok, you don’t have to go.”

Again, fuck. She’s not bluffing this time but… Ella has done so much for Michael and has barely asked for anything in return. So Michael takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. “No, no, I’ll go with you,” he says.

“Really, you don’t have to.”

“Really, it’s ok.” Michael shrugs. “It’s, what, an hour tops? And maybe we can get breakfast afterwards.

Ella’s brows shoot up towards her hairline, but she smiles. Michael wracks his brain; is this the first time _he_ ’s suggested something like that? As much as they’ve gone out together, it doesn’t exactly feel like it. But then again, he’s been getting free food and coffee everywhere they go, so it’s not like he’s been keeping track.

In any case, Ella beams. “Ok,” she says. “Yeah, sounds great!”

——————

The rampant liar that he is, Michael is an expert at deceiving himself as much as others. So he tells himself that the idea of going to church—mass, whatever—simply bores the utter shit out of him, and that’s why he doesn’t want to go come Saturday morning.

He tells himself that, but really, he’s fucking nervous.

And he doesn’t even know why, so he locks it away in the back of his mind and focuses on Ella instead. That morning, they get up as usual, but Ella asks Michael to wear something nice. Michael doesn’t even know if he has anything nice. So he throws on his old turtleneck/tweed jacket combo and hopes that’s good enough.

Apparently it is, because when Ella emerges from her room—wearing a modest little dress unlike anything Michael had seen at Lux—she takes one look at him and nods approvingly while he loses himself staring at her. 

Wow.

“Perfect,” she says, and swings a tiny purse over her shoulder. 

The drive is quiet, and it’s killing Michael. He idly flicks through Ella’s phone until a song title catches his eye, and curiosity gets the better of him. 

The beginning of the song is quiet, but then—“ _My lover’s got humor; she’s the giggle at a funeral_ —”

Michael reels; whatever he expected, it wasn’t that. Michael is just about to turn the entire radio off and apologize when Ella busts out laughing. “ _Take Me To Church_? Really? Oh my gosh, I can’t. That is so great.”

Well. Ok then. 

Michael had intended to make some kind of joke because of the title, thinking it was some kind of childish song about getting kids to go to church or something, but now that he’s embarrassed himself into silence and actually listening to it, the song is actually really nice. It’s not the loud, angry music he’s been favoring recently. It’s peaceful. Or close enough anyway, if Ella wasn’t belting out the words like her life depends on it. Though Michael is pretty sure “ _Take me to church! I’ll worship like a dah somethin’ shine of your life_!” aren’t the actual words. But Earth is weird and humans are weirder, so who knows.

The church parking lot is packed, which Michael should’ve expected but still surprises him. A crowd as diverse as the Silver City itself funnels into the old building, wearing everything from fancy suits and dresses to football jerseys and flip flops. 

Ella’s little heels click across the pavement as they make their way to the door. A man in white robes greets everyone who enters, either shaking hands or nodding respectfully, but Michael is hardly surprised when Ella runs forward and hugs the man like an old friend.

“Ella! Great to see you!” the man says. He works here, clearly, but as what? “We’ve missed you. How are you?”

“Getting there,” Ella says, nodding. “Been going through some stuff, but the Big Guy’s been sending me some extra help.”

Michael snorts, and both Ella and the man turn to him. Fuck.

“And who’s your friend here?” the man asks. Priest maybe?

“This is Michael,” Ella says, gently pulling Michael forward.

The man smiles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before,” he says.

“Jewish,” Michael replies with a grin.

The man’s eyes light up. “Ah!” he exclaims, then taps his nose and then points to Michael’s. “Should’ve guessed! We do get all types around here, after all!”

Ugh, so he’s one of those.

Ella sputters. “W-wha—”

The man claps his hands together. “Well, if you’ll both excuse me, I have to get ready for mass,” he says, and wanders off. 

Michael turns to Ella and—shit, Ella is _fuming_. It would be hilarious if not for the fact that she starts storming after the man and Michael has to physically hold her back.

“I cannot believe he just—Ugh!” Ella hisses. “Michael, let go! I swear when I get ahold of him—”

“You’d really fight a priest?” Michael hisses back. “In... my Father’s house?”

“I’d fight a _racist_! And an _anti-semite_! And—And you don’t even _believe_ that.” Ella gives up and crosses her arms. “And anyway—for you? Yeah!” She pouts. “Plus, he’s a deacon not a priest. Big difference.”

“Oh, excuse me.”

Ella puts her head in her hands and sighs. “You think you know someone,” she says miserably.

“Just leave it,” Michael says. “It’s not worth it.”

“You’re just saying that because it’s you,” Ella says.

“No, I’m saying that because he’s inconsequential,” Michael responds, but Ella is clearly upset now.

“Let’s just get in there,” she says miserably, and takes Michael’s hand. She leads them to a long wooden pew near the front, kneels, genuflects, and slides across the bench. 

Michael blinks. Looks at Ella opening up an old leather book she pulled from under the pew, at the crowd not paying him any attention, and just slides in after her.

A child a few pews in front of them turns and stares Michael in the eyes, unblinking. The nerves come back.

Ella slides forward and kneels on a small padded beam on the floor. Michael… scoots to the very edge of the bench and pretends he can kneel. Ella folds her hands, closes her eyes a little too tightly, and takes a deep breath. The child, still staring at Michael, waves. Why won’t this kid blink?!

The deacon from before appears again with some teenagers dressed in similar white robes to set the altar, and thankfully the child’s attention is averted. Back to the deacon, then. Michael nudges Ella’s arm gently with his own. “I can tell you what he fears,” Michael whispers.

Ella doesn’t even open her eyes; she’s still upset enough to know exactly who Michael’s talking about. “It wouldn’t be very Catholic of me to want to know that…” she says, before crossing herself and sitting back in her seat. “But I’m due for confession anyway.”

“Atta girl.”

Michael focuses on the deacon, calling forth the man’s fears. It’s harder to do this way, as opposed to just asking, so it takes a minute and more effort than Michael would like to spend on the man, but—the deacon shivers, looks up, and makes eye contact with Michael, and—there it is.

Michael must smile or something because Ella leans in close like she knows. “Soooo?”

“Moths.”

“Moths?!”

“Moths,” Michael says again. “You’d be surprised how common a fear that is. It’s almost funny. A racist priest with a fear of moths.”

“Deacon.”

“Whatever.” Michael chuckles. “I bet if you flick a spitball by his head fast enough he’d shit his pants.”

Ella slaps his arm. “No cussing in church!” she says, but she’s covering her mouth with one hand in an attempt to keep from laughing.

Mass starts, and it’s… something. Way different from how worship used to be, but Michael can still see some of the things that have stayed consistent. Ella knows all the words by heart, though while she says them with a smile, most of the other churchgoers drone on almost robotically. This is a chore to many of them, clearly.

Michael takes the opportunity to take in the building around him. The stained glass windows are beautiful, but the scenes they depict are all wrong. The giant cross above the altar with the statue of his half-brother’s _dead body_ —why is he _white_?—bloody and beaten is incredibly unsettling, to say the least (especially considering how many children are looking up at it). The altar and decorations are new and shiny metallic gold, but the carpet and the rest of the furniture in the entire building are beaten to shit.

No wonder none of his siblings come to these places.

Michael pays next to no attention to the actual service, simply people-watches for the most part. A middle aged man Michael had seen in the parking lot wearing a football jersey sits stone-faced as two children use him as their personal jungle gym, his wife next to him not-so-subtly checking her phone in her purse. A collection of nuns line the back pews, most old but a few young or around Ella’s age as well, which is a pleasant surprise. An old man and woman dressed in a suit and dress, respectfully, hold hands and hang onto the priest’s every word. A teenage boy kneels, praying, for the whole hour, staring up at the cross on the wall and radiating fear that Michael can’t discern from this distance but knows shouldn’t be coming off of anyone that young. That one is the most upsetting, and Michael averts his eyes.

Michael is pulled out of his sight-seeing when a basket is nudged into his hands. There’s some kind of little device and like maybe five dollars total thrown in at most; Ella gently takes the basket from him and slips in a ten before continuing to pass it on. The next person takes out their credit card and swipes it through the device to make their donation. Michael resists rolling his eyes so hard he thinks he pops a blood vessel, if that’s even possible.

Communion comes and despite Ella telling him he doesn’t have to come along, Michael does anyway. To his amusement, racist deacon is in charge of their line. Michael leans forward and quietly makes a buzzing noise in Ella’s ear. She snorts so loud she starts coughing, and Michael counts it as a win.

The deacon pales when Michael steps up and looks him straight in the eye again, but Michael just smiles, nods, and follows Ella back to their seats.

‘Sigh of the peace’ is incredibly uncomfortable, the patrons around him all exchanging handshakes and robotic “Peace be with you”s, though Ella of course hugs everyone around them. Michael keeps his hands to his side, except when that fucking unblinking child stretches his hand out and Ella elbows him until he shakes the kid’s hand. Praise Dad, he _finally blinks_.

It’s over not long after that and Michael can’t believe he was so nervous. Not that he was, of course, because he wasn’t. It was just as he thought—just a building filled with a bunch of humans just as flawed and prejudiced as anyone else, reciting praises of his Father like they were reading from a textbook. He didn’t feel his Father’s presence. He didn’t feel any divine light or guide or whatever. He didn’t even feel anything from his half-brother, despite his image being plastered all over the walls. But admittedly there were a good number of true believers Michael could feel around him, Ella included. And as the two of them load into the car, Michael notices that Ella seems… lighter, somehow. Happier, more at peace, even despite the deacon incident, than he’s ever seen her, and it’s… _wow_.

If an hour a week in his Father’s ‘house’ can do _that_ , Michael might just fly her here himself.

They witness no less than three almost-accidents in the parking lot, the congregation turning into a madhouse once mass is actually over. How these people can go from praising Dad and loving each other to trying to kill each other to get home is a baffling mystery, and one Michael thinks Ella can’t even explain. Ella doesn’t even turn the car on, just watches the parking lot start to empty around them.

Michael spots the teenager he’d seen scared shitless in church walk by with what must be his parents, and Michael isn’t sure what compels him, but he bolts out of the car. Ignoring Ella’s confusing shouts behind him, he limps up to the boy and taps him on the shoulder. The kid jumps.

“Hey, hey, sorry,” Michael says. And then he realizes—what the fuck is he doing? “Uh… Y-you… you ok?”

The kid raises an eyebrow. “Y-yeah?” he says shakily; he’s a worse liar than Ella. And fuck, now that Michael is this close, has touched the kid—

“You’re not going to Hell,” Michael finds himself saying. The kid goes white. “No, I mean it. Not for that, anyway.”

The kid looks around, but his parents have gone on without him. “Wh-who are you?” he asks. “How do you know?”

“I’m Michael,” Michael says simply. “And I’m… kinda an expert.”

The kid is clearly skeptical. “You a priest?”

“Not exactly. I just… know a lot.”

The kid looks away, crossing his arms, but it’s a gesture of trying to comfort himself than show off an attitude. “What gave it away?” he asks desperately. “Is it—is it how I’m dressed? Or am I acting too… I-I’ve been trying to be better.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Oh for the love of—You can’t _be_ better because there’s nothing to be better _at_. You’re… fine the way you are. Really.”

The boy finally looks up at him. “But Jesus said—”

“Jesus didn’t say shit,” Michael snaps, and immediately regrets it when the kid flinches. “He, uh, he didn’t. Say anything. About it. Seriously. Uh… listen, the Bible has been translated and retranslated so many times no one truly knows what’s going on anymore, right? I mean, look how many people were saying ‘and with your spirit’ instead of the ‘and also with you’ that they grew up on just because someone said ‘Whoops, we translated wrong! Say this now!’ you know? Almost everything in that little book is interpretation of interpretation. Like the whole seafood thing. You eat seafood, right?”

“I’m allergic.”

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, other people eat seafood. And get tattoos. And mix fabrics, whatever the fuck that was about. Point is, you’re not going to Hell just because of who you’re into. I promise you. You go to Hell if you’re guilty. So let go of this… fear you’ve got and don’t, you know, do something to feel guilty about in the next however-long-you-live and I’ll see you up there. Got it?”

The kid has started crying silently over the course of Michael’s little monologue. Michael pulls a tissue from his pocket and the kid takes it appreciatively. “Th-thank you,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Michael replies, genuinely uncomfortable now. “And seriously, don’t let anyone tell you different. You’re all just human, one of you no better than any other. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

The kid nods and hiccups, and damn him, Michael sighs and opens his arms to the boy. Like the floodgates opened, the kid wraps his arms around Michael and sobs into his turtleneck. Michael hesitates, but gently settles his hand on the kid’s back, rubbing gentle circles like Ella had. It works, because after a moment the boy pulls back with a watery smile and wipes his eyes.

A horn startles them both; the kid’s mom or whoever is hanging out the car window, calling to him. 

The kid chuckles. “Thank you,” he says. “I—I gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Take it easy.”

The kid climbs into the car and waves as his parents speed off. Michael merely raises a hand to wave back, then turns to find Ella standing behind him, hands covering her mouth and eyes shiny with unshed tears. She steps forward and hugs Michael as well, face pressed just above the tear stain the kid left behind. 

Michael doesn’t even hesitate before hugging her back. It’s so warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally 12 years of Catholic schooling comes in handy 🙏🏻 Let me say, some of Michael’s views on church/mass mirror my own but not all.
> 
> Also what the fuck am I trying to do with that last scene jfc
> 
> Also also if anyone has theories I’d love to hear them!!!


	10. Cheese!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what happened here. It’s super short and I hate everything about it but the very very end. I’m sorry. But I think after this we can finally get the ball rolling on this plot.

IHOP, Michael decides, is worth the hour in church. It’s the right combination of cheap and delicious, and it makes Ella happy, despite the sticky menus and crowded atmosphere. It’s like the entire church migrated to the restaurant, or at least it looks that way. Michael follows Ella as the waiter leads them to the last open table in the entire building and simply nods along as she points out recommendations; holy shit, the choices are insane. How much sugar can you pile onto a stack of pancakes without dying from the first bite? IHOP seems eager to find out.

But despite all that, the food is actually good and the coffee is even better. Ella gets one of those diabetes-inducing chocolate-and-icing smothered pancake stacks—which Michael refuses to try—while Michael orders… whatever chicken and waffles is. Chicken and waffles? Really? But it’s good, and Michael gets two more orders after the first, to Ella’s amusement.

The restaurant starts to empty out as Michael is finishing his third plate. Ella watches him from over a massive milkshake. “This is kinda scary,” she says.

Michael takes his final bite. “What is?” he asks.

“How much you can eat!” Ella replies. “It’s like—hold on.”

Ella reaches forward and swipes the side of Michael’s mouth with her thumb. She pulls back a massive crumb and wipes it on her napkin.

Michael just _stares_ , hyper aware of where she’d touched his face—and the warm spot left behind.

The waiter seems to appear out of nowhere. “Can I get you guys anything else?” he asks.

“Hmm, nope, I think we’re good!” Ella replies. “Unless you want something else?”

It takes Michael a minute to realize she’s talking to him. He clears his throat, finally looking away from Ella, and wipes his mouth himself with the back of his hand. “Nah, I’m good,” he says. Fuck, his face feels hot. Is he _blushing_? _Can_ he blush? He downs the rest of his coffee in a rush.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

In the car, Ella pulls out her phone. “Soooo, crossing IHOP off the list,” Ella says.

“Huh?”

“I made a list.” Ella passes Michael her phone. “Since we’re trying to find your favorite coffee.”

Micael gives the look a cursory glance and nods. There are a few places he recognizes, but most of them could’ve been made up for all he knows. “Shitload of places,” Michael says.

“Yeah, well, welcome to LA,” Ella replies with a laugh. “Sometimes on the way to and from a crime scene, I’ll find these little Mom ‘n Pop places that turn out to be really good, so I’ve just started trying a bunch of them.” 

“So this whole ‘list’ thing is nothing new.”

“Nope! But it’s more fun going with someone else! I mean, going alone is ok though. Helps me make a lot of friends.” Ella takes her phone back and opens her photo gallery. She scrolls through a folder of herself and various men and women smiling and embracing in front of what must be their respective restaurants. As she scrolls, Ella’s smile disappears. “You know what?” she says. “I don’t have _any_ pictures of you!”

Michael blinks. “What?”

“Like, _how_ long have we lived together? C’mere,” Ella says, leaning towards Michael. She puts one hand on the side of his face and pulls him in a little bit—and fuck, Michael feels hot again. Ella lifts her phone in front of them and smiles. “Cheese!”

“What?”

“It means smile,” Ella explains, then flashes a goofy face. “Cheese!”

Michael leans in and bares his teeth. The flash goes off, blinding him for a moment. Ella checks the picture and cooes as Michael blinks the stars out of his eyes. After a moment, he looks over Ella’s shoulder and groans; the picture is weirdly lit because of the flash, but Ella still looks so _fucking pretty_ and happy as Hell. _Michael_ , on the other hand, looks weird and uncomfortable and as awkward as he feels.

_And_ his face is red.

“Ugh,” Michael grumbles.

Ella just laughs. “I think it’s cute!” she says. 

“Let’s just crop that bit out,” Michael suggests, covering his face with his finger.

“No!” Ella exclaims. “I like it! Look, we can take a better one later, I promise. But I’m keeping this one.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Michael teases, and—what?

“Oi’m a lady of moy wohd,” Ella teases back, in quite possibly the _worst_ imitation of Lucifer’s accent Michael has ever heard.

He can’t help it; he busts out laughing. Ella takes the opportunity to put her phone away and peel out of the parking lot, though she’s laughing just as hard.

——————

Ella takes so many candid shots of Michael over the course of the day. What originally began as an inside joke with herself because of Michael’s reaction to their picture has turned into Ella trying to capture as many moments of Michael truly relaxed and happy as possible. He’s always wound so tightly, either from stress, nerves, irritability, or pain that the few moments that he allows himself to let his guard down—to Ella—are precious. And the fact that he seems to trust _her_ enough to even do so in the first place makes her heart swell. 

The more Ella thinks about it, the more she realizes just how much Michael has changed for the better since they moved in together. When they’d first met—really met, that is—he was arrogant, assuming a simple sleazy apology was enough to make up for what he did, and held himself so tightly that it even looked painful _without_ the injury. Now he watches Star Trek and eats ice cream, takes naps, goes for coffee, breakfast, and lunch with her—goes with her to _visit her chicken_ , even! He went to Church and agreed to hang out with the brother he _hates_ because it would make her happy. He let her see his beautiful wings, let her try to ease his pain and tried to ease her pain in turn. He trusted her with his darkest secrets and traumas, let her hold him as he shook and cried, and did the same for her. 

Ella scrolls through her new collection of Michael photos and looks over at where he’s sitting on the couch, trying not to nod off and watching _golf_ of all things. The setting sun backlights him with its peach-pink glow, softening his features and making him look every bit the Angel that he is. 

Ella approaches softly, sitting down beside him. Michael’s eyes slide to her and he smiles gently. Ella smiles back, leans against him, and raises her phone. 

Michael chuckles. “Now? Really?” he jokes, but smiles anyway. 

“Cheese!” Ella says, and clicks a few pictures. 

That night, Ella lays in bed and looks through her new photos again. When she comes to their sunset pictures, Ella pauses. She hadn’t really looked at them past checking that they weren’t blurry, but now that she’s really looking at them…

In the first picture, Michael’s cheek is gently pressed against her hair; even his body is angled towards her. His smile is soft, eyes half-lidded as he looks into the camera. It really is a beautiful picture. 

But the second photo is… slightly different. Neither one of them had moved, but Michael’s smile is more genuine, so soft and open and almost awed as he looks—

_Oh_.

—as he looks down at _her_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _plot plot plot plot plot plot_
> 
> Fun fact I never wanted to do an “oh” moment cuz I think they’re cute but really cliche, but I kinda did a reverse one here and that I’m actually proud of it.


End file.
